


Blood Of My Blood

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, M/M, Targaryen On The Throne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just one touch. One innocent brush of her finger upon the Heart Tree, the castle at Winterfell standing over her shoulder, her fingers feeling the soft crunch of leaves and the cold winter breeze upon her face. Sansa could only remember falling. Her head hitting the ebony bench before the tree. The pain behind her eyes. But when she awoke she found herself having fallen back in time for reasons she does not know. </p><p>Thrown together with the wild and free members of Houses Stark and Targaryen Sansa has never felt more free and more frightened, their destinies entwined in a way she cannot understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Diana Gabaldon's _Outlander_ but you _do_ _not_ need any prior knowledge of the series to read this fic :)
> 
> I promised myself I would finish _Before_ _The_ _Eyes_ _Of_ _Gods_ _And_ _Men_ before I started writing this fic but the ideas just became too fast and too forcefully and I couldn't resist any longer. The first chapter is a bit long so bear with me please :)

_ Chapter One _

_Sansa Lannister_

It had been so long. So long since Sansa had run her fingers through his golden hair or felt the stubble of his chin against her neck as he kissed her, the scratch both familiar and not uncomfortable. It was a feeling she had missed more than she could have once imagined. And his kisses. How she had missed them.

“My darling.” Jaime whispered, his arms closing tighter around her waist, pulling her flush against him. A sprinkle of rain had begun to fall from the darkening clouds but he did not mind it, the brim of his hat wide enough to protect both their faces. “My darling Sansa.”

He watched as the rain began to fall harder and the tendrils of hair that had fallen from its pins curled and darkened in the rain. She was wearing a short white and navy dress, the stains of water inching further across the skirt and eating away at the fabric until she was wet as a dog, shivering in his arms yet continuing to smile.

There could be a monsoon for all she cared. As long as they were together.

For a moment Jaime could not even speak, simply opening his arms and inviting Sansa to return to the place she had so often occupied in the past. The smell of her crimson hair was intoxicating, the perfume she had combed into her hair soft and fragrant. It was his favorite, she knew, a mix of roses and lavender and he allowed himself a moment to relish in the scent of it.

The sky had darkened with the heaviness of clouds and in the low lightning Sansa’s skin looked like it could be made of ivory or porcelain instead of simple flesh. It was all enough to send him into a stupor.

Holding her at arms length he kissed her. A kiss he had been holding inside him for three long years as he waited. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, perhaps even softer after having been unburdened with his touch for so long, he thought.

When he looked at her again her lips were slightly swollen from kissing, yet remaining the same soft red rosebuds he had always known. And her eyes…blue as oceans, blue as sea glass, blue as Morning Glories.

“I love you.” He whispered for the third time in the last moment.

“My Jaime.” she replied. Her forehead was pressed against his, his breath dancing across her face and smelling of the whiskey they had shared and the mint he had chewed. Her cheek was pillow soft as he kissed it, only making her smile.

And all at once Jaime was overcome with memories of all the things he had forgotten. The patter of her bare feet as she tip toed across the room to their bed from the bathroom, wrapped in a soft robe that always seemed to be parted just enough to give him a view of the breasts he had come to love so much.

He remembered the songs she so often sang in the shower, her voice soft as silk and always swimming around his mind even long after they had parted. The perfume she wore. The wrinkles that appeared at the tip of her nose as she laughed. The red of her lips. The blue of her eyes. The soft ridge of the scar on her temple.

“Jaime.” she whispered.

Sansa was sure they had repeated each other’s names thirty times before they broke apart, if just for air and when she looked at him she found Jaime’s handsome face pock marked with her lipstick and his lips glowed as red as hers, bringing a smile to her face.

She said his name in a way that he was sure could be the subject of poems.  Poems he would write for her if he were a different man. A more romantic man.

 She remembered the way she used to say it in her sleep, whispered, as gentle as a gust of wind. He had always wondered what she was dreaming of, but by the way her fingers curled in the folds of his sleep shirt and her toes brushed against his leg he thought he knew.

While parking his car Jaime had seen her from afar, the train she had just departed leaving a puff of smoke in its wake. Her hair was dark as flame, bobbing up and down through the crowd that meandered about the station in raincoats and jumpers.

Jaime had nearly crashed the car trying to reach her, jumping out of the vehicle with the keys still turned in the ignition to take her into his arms.

He had seen the familiar flash of lightning in the distance and the gentle roll of thunder as he drove but thought little of it, his mind filled to the brim with images of her sparkling eyes and the graceful slope of neck.

The lightning had only worsened since his arrival and he was sure they would be struck by it if they did not seek shelter and he urged her to the cover of the car, watching the drops of water roll down her face and drip to the ground.

Sliding into the passenger seat of the car Sansa smelled the dark leather she sat upon deep and warm and she felt a great sense of comfort at the familiarity. The same sepia toned photograph of her rested in the cradle below the radio and all the dials were tuned the way she had left them and as she switched on the aging radio she heard the same familiar singing that she and Jaime had danced to at their wedding.

  _This is where I belong_ , she thought, resting her head against the seat and propping her bare feet on the dashboard. _In the passenger seat of his car, with his warm hand upon her knee and the Northern wind whipping through her hair from the open window._

“A present for you.” Jaime offered, holding a folded box towards her.

Quirking an eyebrow Sansa pulled the dark ribbon from the box, intrigued by the weight of the package. She gasped at the sight of something she had not seen in three long, long years and she nearly cried at the sight of them.

The first bite of the lemon cake she took Sansa thought she might faint from sheer pressure, licking the powdered sugar from her fingers one by one. She moaned in pleasure, bringing the cake to Jaime’s lips before licking the sugar from them. “Ah, how I have missed that sound.” Said he teasingly.

Sansa leaned over to kiss him. “It is dangerous to stand in a moving car.” Her husband chided. After eating the last bite of cake from her fingers his lips moved to her palm, his tongue swirling over the sugar that was left on her fingers and palm.

“I don’t care.” Sansa replied, stealing another kiss. “I don’t care.”

She hung halfway out of the window for the entirety of the drive to Winterfell, regardless of the rain and the thunder and the fog that began to roll over the grassy knolls in the distance.

They arrived at the inn far more quickly than she could have imagined and hurriedly ran through the door Jaime opened, using his coat to protect themselves from the heaviest rain.

The innkeeper handed them heir key with a knowing glance, winking once at Sansa as she led them to their room, the heavy copper key rattling against the ring in her hand.

As soon as the door closed behind them Sansa barely had time to thank the owner before Jaime grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him, Sansa able to feel how desperately he wanted her by the pressure against her leg.

Their lovemaking was desperate and passionate, Jaime’s hair still wet from the rain and sending shivers down her spine as it touched her bare stomach.

But his kisses were soft and his touch familiar and Sansa fell asleep content, her head resting against his chest and her fingers gently tracing circles into the golden hair upon his chest.

Come morning, as Sansa roused Jaime she was practically buzzing with excitement, shaking his shoulders as she tried to wake him. “Wake up, lazy.” She said as he tried to pull her back into the bed. “Winterfell Castle is waiting.”

“Let it wait.” He moaned, the deepness of his groggy voice stirring something within her. “I have waited for you for three years.”

She succumbed to his temptations and fell back into bed with him, tangled in the sheets and blankets and pillows that had piled up around them.

Sansa’s fingernails dug into Jaime’s shoulder as he moved against her, their hips moving to match in rhythm and she cursed the bed for creaking so loudly but in the moment found she did not have a care in the world, focusing only on the increasing warmth of her body and the way Jaime’s lips felt against her breast until they reached their peaks of pleasure in unison.

It took another hour of convincing before Jaime rose from the bed and moved to the car, the drive to Winterfell Castle seeming as thought it took hours when in truth it must only have been a quarter of an hour but Sansa’s excitement overwhelmed her.

Winterfell was as beautiful as she had seen in the photographs and postcards she had collected, though the many books that occupied her library did little to properly convey its beauty. In the midst of winter it seemed a wonderland, the snow like cotton as it fell around them and settled on the gray of the stone battlements.

It was not crowded, as Sansa had initially feared, and she had to actively resist the urge to lie down in the snow and roll around as if she was a girl again. “It’s…” she said.

Jaime’s brows knitted. “Do you not like it?”

“No.” she said, slipping her hand between his callused fingers. “I love it. It’s absolutely beautiful.” Her voice cracked with pleasure and she felt herself on the verge of tears.

He kissed her brow. “It is nothing in comparison to you.”

They spent hours exploring and Jaime was in such a fine mood that he did not have to pretend to listen to Sansa’s spouting of historical facts. “It is so beautiful.” She said, the multitudes of facts she had said overwhelming her.

The castle’s garden was one of the most beautiful Sansa had ever seen, the abundance of fresh flowers so great that she did not know where to start and by the time when she reached a secondary path she had an armful of flowers and plants so massive she could scarcely see over it.

The path was not often travelled, Sansa judged so by the way the grass grew tall and even and was not overcome with footprints in the snow as the rest of the garden was. 

At the end of the path lay one of the largest trees she had ever seen, its trunk thrice as wide as her body and nearly as tall as the castle itself. A heart tree, she realized with a wave of pleasure. She had only read about them, never able to have the opportunity to see them.

Where the other trees carried green leaves that had fallen when the seasons turned and the air turned cold these leaves were as bright a red as her hair and as fresh as spring flowers. She brushed her fingers across the trunk in awe, her fingertips finding the ridges of wood in the trunk happily.

Sansa jumped back instantly, struck with a jolt that ran through her entire body and sent her reeling.

The tree seemed to be humming and as her palm pressed against the cool wood the hum turned so sharp that she felt the urge to cover her ears. There was no one else occupying the garden but even so no one seemed to hear it.

Sansa was floored by the sound, the allure of the tree only growing by the second until it was practically screaming for her touch once more. The leaves rustled loudly as they blew and with another sharp, urging gust of wind, she once again brought her hand up to touch the tree.

A sharp rock rose to meet her. _No_ , she thought. _No_. She had fallen, her feet having caught on the hem of her skirt as she walked backwards and the flowers in her arms scattering in the wind almost beautifully.

Sansa felt wetness trickle passed her head and the breeze that had once blown gently picked up until she felt as thought she had stumbled into a windstorm. She screamed for Jaime but he could not hear. The wind was too loud and her head was too heavy and he could not hear.

Her eyes drooped closed and what felt like a blink turned out to be far longer for when she opened her eyes the sky had darkened. “Jaime.” she whispered.

Her shoulders shook with chill and she gasped at the sight of snow falling above her. It had blanketed her completely, leaving her body under a mound of white. But she could not feel anything.

“Jaime.” Sansa voice was hoarse and confused and she lifted her head to find herself overcome with pain. She felt sick and dizzy, crawling towards the tree to help steady herself.

_A concussion_ , she thought vaguely. She remembered the many men she had seen during wartime, their symptoms too similar to hers for comfort.

Sansa heard the dull murmur of voices and called for her husband only to find another figure standing before her, his shoulders bowed and something silver in his hand flashing in the light of the lantern he held. It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. “M’lady, are you unwell?”


	2. Nurse's Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry but I rewrote the first chapter for the sake of continuity and quality and I added a few things that may come up later and just basically made the chapter better because when I went back to read it I was less than impressed. So if you wish you can reread it but it is not absolutely vital :)

_Chapter Two_

_Sansa Lannister_

She awoke in a bed, her head upon one of the softest pillows she had ever felt, and for the first time since she had arrived at Winterfell, was warm. “Jaime.” she whispered, turning to face him. But where her husband’s body should have been the bed was bare and unfamiliar.

“My lady.” Said a voice and she jumped up, only to regret it. “Oh poor dear. You need to lie back.”

As her vision came into focus Sansa saw a woman before her. She was soft of face and kind of voice, her eyes deep and round and sparkling blue. “Where am I?” asked Sansa. She reached a hand up to touch her head, finding her fingers wet with blood when she drew back.

“My lady you are unwell.” Said the woman, coming to stand at her side and taking her hand. “Maester Luwin found you before the Heart Tree.” She said.

“Master…Luwin…” Sansa moaned. “Heart Tree. Where is Jaime?”

“Dearest,” said the woman. “You have been calling for him all night. Who is Jaime?”

The door opened softly and a man entered, Sansa’s mind snapping to attention as he came into focus. _Are you unwell?_ She remembered him. _M’lady are you unwell?_

“Ah you are awake.” Said he. He wore a long chain around his neck, each link mismatched, made of different metals or twisted into different shapes, and it rattled as it touched his robes. “I was just bringing more milk of the poppy.”

The woman stroked her hair. “She is still disoriented.” Said she. “This is Maester Luwin. He is the one who found you, dearest.”

“It was quite a fall she had.” Said he. “Septa, would you fetch her a change of clothes? I’m afraid a blood soaked tunic will do little for her health.”

The woman curtsied and closed the door behind her, leaving Sansa alone with the Maester. “Septa Mordane.” He said by way of introduction. “She has been loathe to leave your side for the last few days.”

“Days?” repeated Sansa, trying to sit up again.

“My lady you cannot sit up so fast.” He said. “You must rest and recover. An injury to the head can be quite dangerous.”

“I know…I…I’m a nurse.” She managed to say. Sansa was overcome with a sudden fit of nausea but the Maester was kind enough to brush back her hair with his wrinkling hands as she relieved the contents of her stomach into a bucket beside the bed. “I’m sorry I-“

“There is no need to be sorry.” He said with a smile. There was something familiar about his face but she could not place it. His smile was kind and his eyes clever and mysterious, as if he knew far more than he let on. “You are now a guest of House Stark. If you would do us the honor of meeting Lord Bran for supper.”

Sansa repeated the words carefully. _Stark._ Suddenly her dizziness became overwhelming and she found the need to retch once more, though there was little remaining in her stomach. _Maester. Lord. Lady. Septa. Stark. Maester. Stark. Stark._

Her memories came back in fragments. The tree. Falling. The bedroom. The bitterness of the poppy. The Maester. The pain in her head. Stark. House Stark. _Stark._

She had heard the legends of the ruins of the castle at Winterfell but she had not believed them. The books often lied about these things, stretching out the old wives tales so they could sell more copies. Time travel. It was the stuff of films and fiction novels. It was impossible. It was something to laugh about while in bed with Jaime.

 _Jaime_. If she was here than where was Jaime? Had he come back with her? _No_ , she thought vaguely. _He was back at the car._ What did he think happened to her? Was he looking for her? Was he worried?

“My lady you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Said the Maester, resting the back of his hand against her brow, feeling her cold beneath.

“Perhaps I have.” She muttered.

The Septa returned with an armful of clothes. “My lady you have the pick of the closet. These gowns were once commissioned for the young Lady Stark but she was fonder of breeches and hose. They should fit you quite nicely.”

 _Stark_. “I will await you outside.” Said Maester Luwin and took his leave.

The Septa helped Sansa remove the bloodied dress she wore and step into another, the fabric made of crisp, cool wool and decorated with the print of large gray wolves _. The sigil_ , she thought weakly. _House Stark. Their sigil._ She remembered from the nights she had poured over her books, the texts lit by a single burning candle in the war tent and she willed the crinkling yellow pages not to make so much noise as to not wake the other nurses

She looked at herself in the mirror that was offered. The clothes. The dress. The smallclothes and silken slippers and long skirts. This was no game, as she had thought. No. The notion that it was had slipped away as soon as the word Stark had been uttered.

Maester Luwin guided her by the arm and Sansa felt foolish to rely so heavily on such an old man but her worries evaporated when she found she was struggling to keep up with him. “Lord Bran has often inquired after you.” Said he. “She has come by you room several times through the days.”

“He is very kind.” Said Sansa distantly, following him around another corner. “For allowing me to stay here and to offer such wonderful help.”

The walls of the castle were as mysterious and beautiful as she had pictured, the textbooks doing no justice. The heavy stone was piped with water from the hot springs so the cold did not reach so deeply into her bones now and the layers of cotton and wool were enough to warm her in even the coldest of nights.

“He is just inside.” Said Luwin, stopping before a twin set of dark mahogany doors. 

“Are you not joining me?” asked Sansa.

“I am afraid not, my lady. A Maester has many duties but heraldry is not one of them.” he said. She smiled at his joke and watched as he rounded a stone corner and disappeared, leaving her before the doors that were being pulled open by two men in silver armor.

 _Knights_ , she realized. _They are knights_.

She felt faint. But she regained her composure at the doors were fully opened and she was bid to step inside. “Ah, Lady Sansa!” said a man, his booming voice making her flinch. His hair was long and white, knotted between his chin and billowing in the breeze. “You are finally well enough to join us.”

Her voice caught in her throat as she first tried to speak. “Thank you, my lord for your hospitality.”

“Ah, sweet words. But it is not me to be thanking.” He gestured to a tall seat beside him where a small man sat. _Not a man_ , she realized as she stepped closer. A boy.

He could be no older than fifteen, if that. His hair was dark and shaggy and his skin the same pale white as the man beside him and the Maester. Northern men, she thought. Even in her time it was what they looked like. _Her time_. The words hit her like a blow and she felt faint again.

The boy seemed to notice this and quickly bid she sit down, offering her a seat beside him at the table. “Brandon Stark,” introduced the first man she had spoken to. “Lord of Winterfell.”

“Only while my father is away.” said he, reassuringly. He offered her a weak smile which she returned, equally as weakly. “I am sorry for your injury.” He said to her. “Maester Luwin says you are a nurse. Were you training to be a Septa?”

“No.” said she. “In my…village it was necessary to have a bit of medical knowledge. There are many injured men that come through.”

“Very strange.” Said Brandon Stark. “I am no stranger to injury.” He gestured down. To her surprise she had not noticed before. Judging by how thin and spindly his legs were she guessed paralysis from the waist down. Most likely caused by an injury to the spine or head. “I was thrown from a horse.” He said, answering her mental questions. “There was nothing to be done.”

But instead of pity in her eyes, as he had expected, she smiled. “I have seen many injured men.” She said. “Injured men that go on to write or read or ride even.”

“I have a saddle!” he bubbled excitedly. “King Rhaegar had it made for me.”

Sansa felt breathless. All the air that had occupied her lungs now disappeared as he spoke. _King Rhaegar._ She knew the name. It was obvious now. When she had been transported back to. But she still wished it were a dream. Wished it was a joke or a game or they were actors Jaime had hired to give her a good laugh. But it was not and she was quickly giving up hope.

“He is a kind king.” She said. It was not a lie, or so the books told her.

“Are you hungry?” asked the little lord. “My maiden Osha can prepare something for you.”

“I-“

The doors burst open abruptly and Sansa flinched as they did so, the pain in her head spiking. A group of men entered in a swarm of black and only as they were able to walk closer could Sansa tell them apart. Two of the men were carrying another who was clutching his arm and moaning in pain, his teeth clenched tightly.

“Jon!” cried Bran, piping up. “What happened?”

“Raiders.” Answered one of the men. “Bombarded us as we were returning from King’s Landing. Took nearly everything we had. The only thing we got away with was our horses and our injuries.”

“One of them took the shirt off my back.” He growled. “Off of my back!”

“Get the Maester!” Brandon called to one of the knights at the door. “Quickly!”

The injured man had gone pale as a sheet and sunk into a chair that was offered. His shirt was slashed open and speckled with blood, as well as his neck and cheek. Instinctively Sansa rose to her feet. She had seen men in this state for years. It was her job to heal the injured and the sick, no matter what sort of disheveled state she was in.

“Who is this?” asked one of the men, jerking a thumb at her.

“I’m a nurse.” She replied, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows.

“We will wait for the Maester.” Said another voice.

“Let her help you.” ordered Brandon. "She _is_ a nurse."

Kneeling before the chair of the man they called Jon she lifted his chin in her fingers, checking if his pupils were dilated. A flash of electricity ran through her and she nearly fell backwards. Jon gritted his teeth in pain and jerked backwards in the same fashion. “I’m sorry-“ he said. “I-“

“No need to apologize.” She said hurriedly. His eyes were so dark a blue they were nearly black, but in the bright light from the candle beside her she could see their true color. His beard was trimmed short but far darker than Jaime’s had been and his hair was longer and had a wicked curl to it that she had always loved in men when she was a girl.

She looked at his arm, softly guiding it from his clutch. “Your shoulder is dislocated.” She judged. “Will you allow me to set it?”

“A woman?” asked one of the men.

Sansa rounded on him. “Oh would you like to do it then?” she was met with a round of calls and shouts. "I don't remember hearing any of you were nurses. Though in those clothes it would not be surprising." Laughter bubbled from all corners of the room, the sound reverberating against the stone and digging into her brain. 

“Yes.” Answered Jon. “By the Gods it hurts.”

“And it will hurt worse.” She said. “Take off your tunic.” Another round of seductive shouts as he did as he was bid.

Sansa sucked in a breath as he did so, revealing a stomach tapered and thin and rippling with muscle as he sat forward. She supposed its what Jaime had looked like when he was years younger, but not the muscle was not so defined and getting rounder by the year and by the drink.

She ripped off a thick layer of cloth from the bottom of the tunic and turned to the men. “Hold him down.”

They made noises of exasperation. “She said hold him down!” shouted Bran and the men bumbled to do as they were told, their hands planted firmly on him.

“Bite this.” Said Sansa, offering the cloth and his mouth opened to do as he was told. His dark eyes watched her curiously as she neared him and she had to purposefully ignore the feel of pure muscle and sinew beneath her hands as she placed her hands on either side of his shoulder.

“Ready? On three...three.” She jerked his shoulder back into place and his scream ripped through the entire hall.

“By the gods.” He repeated, spitting out the cloth.

“I’m sorry.” She said again, using the rest of the broken tunic to create a sling. “Don’t use the shoulder for a fortnight or it’ll dislocate again. As for these cuts.” She said, turning her chin in her fingers.

He was very handsome, especially when she was this close to him and could see the curves of his lips as he smiled. “You are a good woman.” He said finally. “Not many could speak to them like that.” He gestured to the group of men at his flank. “Well they could try but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Sansa Storm.” She said, offering her hand after cleaning them on her skirt.

He looked between her and her hand before another grin broke over his face. “Jon Snow.”

“My word.” Said Maester Luwin from the door. “She is quite a woman.”

“Aye.” Jon Snow met her eye and Sansa felt heat rise into her face and into other parts of her she would never admit. “That she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry these chapters are so long. I start writing and suddenly look down and BOOM it's like six pages of writing. Well anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading it as I enjoyed writing it (at three o'clock in the morning I might add). Thank you for reading!


	3. The Riding Party

_Chapter Three_

_Sansa Lannister_

With the assistance of Maester Luwin Sansa was able to bandage all the cuts and scrapes of the riding party that had returned. For the majority of the night Jon Snow was continuously nagged by Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin for using his injured arm or removing his shoulder from the cotton sling, the Maester having made a proper one upon returning to the castle.

"Well what should I do then?" Jon demanded finally. "I've got to eat. Got to dress. I cannot do it all with one arm."

"Perhaps Sansa will help you with that as well." said Benjen Stark, one of the men in the returning party.

A flush filled her face but before she could reply another voice spoke in her stead. "Lady Sansa is a woman married." said Septa Mordane. "I reckon you should let her be. The poor dear has had a long day."

Sansa felt all eyes, including hers, drag down to the ring on her finger. It was a simple stone in a simple setting. They had married a year into the war, when the iron and steel rations were running low and even the smallest of diamonds cost more than the average flat. Jaime had spent a small fortune on the ring, despite her protests, and even still the stone was less then impressive. But Sansa loved it still.

"Are you married, lady?" asked young Brandon Stark.

"I..." she began. In truth she did not know. If she truly was in the time of King Rhaegar and Queen Elia than Jaime would not have been born yet. She would not have been born yet. "He is not alive." she admitted finally. It was the best she could do under the circumstances but the sadness of her voice only added to the sincerity of her words and no other questions were posed.

Dinner was a feast of roast quail and potatoes with steamed vegetables before a tray of fresh cakes were brought out. "Lemon cakes?" she asked, looking at the squares. The sight of them nearly made her cry as she though of the sugar she had licked from her fingers in Jaime's automobile. "They...they're my favourite." she said. "I used to eat them often as children."

"They are hard to come by this far north but Jon managed to buy some from a trader in The Reach." said Benjen, his mouth full of quail and carrots. "He loves them."

"Have you ever been to King's Landing?" asked Maester Luwin, quite oddly. She supposed there was not much more of an option than to tell the truth, and did so with little hesitation.

"No." said Sansa. "It is a pleasure I have not known."

"It is beautiful." said Pip dreamily. He smiled at her and Sansa she returned the smile before returning to her own plate.

"How is your head Lady Sansa?" asked Benjen, to her surprise. "Luwin told us of your accident."

The wine swirling in her cup made her head feel heavy and a voice in the back of her head told her she should drink no more. "I feel quite faint actually." she admitted, setting down her chalice.

"What were you doing?" he continued. His dark eyes watched her, the bawdy smile having disappeared from his lips.

She shook her head. "I don't remember. Truly."

"Lady Sansa." said another of the men, Grenn, is Sans could remember properly. "What is your full name?"

 _Sansa Lannister_ , but she did not say it. "Sansa Storm." she said, using her maiden name. It felt odd on her tongue after it had been so long since she had said it. Years in fact.

"A bastard?" questioned Benjen.

"Lord Benjen I think that is quite enough." said Luwin, setting down his napkin. "Lady Sansa has had a long day-"

"I only wanted to know how one can so suddenly appear and so deeply ingratiate herself into the castle." he continued.

"What exactly are you saying?" asked Sansa.

"You are not the first bastard born girl to try and marry our Lord." his brows shot up. "And you will not be the last, I am sure."

"She did not ingratiate herself." said Bran Stark. "I invited her here."

"And how exactly did she thank you for it?" asked Benjen.

Sansa rose sharply from the table, upending her half empty chalice. The red stain spread across the white table cloth quickly, the colour as deep as the red that had filled her cheeks. "I will take my leave if I am so unwanted." she said and turned on her heel, hurrying to the door.

She had no belongings to collect and hurried through the doors of the castle as they were opened for her. The snow had fallen heavily since her arrival, half blocking the view of the city she was not used to seeing.

A ripple ran through her and her stomach clenched tightly. She had last seen Winterfell at Jaime's side, the great stone ruins of the castle crumbling and dilapidated but now, standing outside the castle, she could see its true glory. Every window was illuminated with the golden light of candles and the last few rays of sunlight as the sun descended over the hills in the distance, making the stone shine and glisten. The city before her bustled with activity. Knights in polished armour passed her on the street, the clink and rattle of iron making her head ring.

Men and women moved about as easily as if the snow did not even bother them, while Sansa struggled to warm herself beneath the heavy dress. Where would she go? Back to the heart tree, of course. But she could not reach it, not now. Not under such great suspicion.

Before she could take another step she was interrupted by a hand around her arm that stopped her from going any further. Jon Snow looked back at her, his bandaged arm hanging awkward before him in it's sling. "He did not mean anything by it." he said. His eyes watched her closely, trying to gauge her response. His hair was a tousled mess, dark curls sticking out in many directions. It looked as though it had never before seen a comb, but she assumed his wife did not care.

"He did not mean anything by it." he repeated when she did not respond. He offered her a small smile and Sansa felt so dizzy she resisted raising a hand to stroke the hair upon his chin.

Her face had paled significantly and as Jon looked at her he wondered if she would need his help to return to the castle. But his with his bloody shoulder in a sling he could barely lace his tunic let alone carry someone. Instead of lifting her into his arms as he would so enjoy, Jon continued speaking. "He is Bran's uncle. He cares for him deeply. Perhaps too deeply sometimes. And the wine does nothing to held his large mouth except help him put his foot further into it."

Sansa looked at him and as he dropped his arm, stepped closer to her. "You will catch a chill out here." he said. "If you truly wish to go at least allow me to offer you my furs."

Reluctantly Sansa allowed Jon to lead her inside where she resumed her place at the table beside Maester Luwin, stiffly apologising for her outburst. "I am glad you decided to join us." he whispered, the twinkle of his eye pleasant.

Gruffly Benjen offered an apology which Sansa politely accepted. "If you will excuse me I will retire." she said and she and the Septa began to ascend the steps to her chambers.

As soon as the door closed behind her the voices picked up and carried, though half mufled by the door. She had assumed they spoke of her but found herself pause with one foot upon the stair as she heard her name spoken in a hushed whisper.

"She is not who she says she is." said a muffled voice she could not identify. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt as if she had been doused in icy water. Septa Mordane had continued, leaving her alone in the moist stairwell.

"That is not for us to say." said Maester Luwin. "She must be taken to King's Landing at once. If she...if she.."

"It cannot be." said another stiff voice. "She is a bastard born girl from the Stormlands. She said it herself."

"With the lump on her forehead she would say she is Aerys Targaryen if you told her she was." said Luwin.

"We cannot judge her for who she is. Not until-" "Until what? We bring her before the King only to find out she is just another common girl?" said a man. "We would be fools."

"A common girl with the Northern look. A common girl kissed by fire. A common girl with eyes of Tully blue?" asked Luwin.

"Enough." said Jon Snow. "It is not out place to accuse her of such things. We are to return to King's Landing at the turn of the moon and Lady Sansa will accompany us."

"Oh dear." said the Septa, a bit too loud for her liking. Sansa wondered if the men could hear her but based on the way the voices had sharply cut off and died away, she judged they could. But the Septa obliviously continued. "We ought to get you to bed. But how wonderful it is to hear about a trip to the Capital city!"

Sansa sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


	4. The Furs

It was a night as cold as Sansa had ever felt. She lay in bed shivering beneath her thin shift, the brown bear fur Septa Mordane had given her doing little to stave off the chill.

The fire roared in its grate and as the minutes slipped away to hours the servants would enter to poke at the flames or add a log to the low burning fire.

The heat was a welcome companion, the rattling windows seeming thin as paper, even the smallest of breezes able to pierce the cracks in the stone and slip into the room. She stared at the ceiling over her head for so long she nearly memorised every crack and slit and curve of the stone, only realising hours had passed by the kindling that had burned low in the grate.

Sansa had entered the room to find a handmaiden waiting for her, the women dropping into a practiced curtsy as she came into sight.

"My lady." she said, speaking in soft toned shyness as she smoothed her blue skirts with measured hands. "I came to prepare you for sleep."

Sansa was too tired to object and too confused to do more than raise her arms as her dress was pulled over her head. Years ago she might had been embarrassed to stand before a stranger naked as on her day of birth, her fair skin prickling with gooseflesh and her nipples hardening beneath the hands she tried to cover them with. It was as cold as if the winter had touched down in that very chamber and standing naked she shivered as violently as if she were about to convulse.

"Sorry, my lady." said the handmaiden. She was a sweet faced girl, her dark hair swept up in a simple style. "Just another minute." said Jeyne Poole.

Jeyne helped Sansa into a nightgown, the fabric only slightly more thick then a shift and told her she would meet her once again in the morning to help her bathe. Sansa only nodded, too tired to think how awkward it would be to be bathed by another person.

For a time Sansa tried to pass the time by reading but gave up after only a short while, her mind too full to be occupied by anything else. She could feel the tears prickling at her eyes as her mind wandered back to the many nights she and Jaime had lain curled around each other like kittens, reading and whispering to each other in the darkness.

"What do you think of the name Olivia?" asked Sansa.

"For a child?" he said, peering at her over his glasses.

"Of course." she said.

"After your mother?" She fell quiet for a moment. "She was always kind to me. Always kind to the rest of the girls. Even though she was not my birth mother she treated me as though I was her child."

"And what about for a boy?"

"James." she mused, her fingers skating up his cheek, feeling the course hair beneath her fingers. "After your father."

But now there was no Olivia and there was no Jaime and the side of her bed that was usually occupied by him was now empty and cold and it became harder to squelch the flow of tears.

Sansa jumped as a knock on the door snapped her from her precious reverie. She jolted as her bare feet touched the floor, the hard grey stone cold as the winter snow that fell in delicate waves outside the window. She struggled to find the boots she had left strewn across the floor earlier that evening, the single candle on her night table doing little to guide her path.

Sansa expected to find the maiden Jeyne on the other side of the door but found Jon instead. The man stood uncertainly on the other side of the door, his broad shouldered body nearly too large for the doorway.

There was no choice but to stand outside of the frame or inside it and, sensing his hesitation, Sansa beckoned he enter. His injured arm hung like a banner in the waving wind in its sling, the awkward crook of his elbow clearly causing him great discomfort. Sansa knew she should have said something to him. To tell him he need only wear it a bit longer...but the sight of him in her doorway made her mouth dry.

During the war she had seen many a man in a state of undress and distress. She had seen their bare bodies, even caught herself admiring them once or twice. The way their arms rippled and pulled and how the muscles in their legs seemed almost taut as bowstrings as they made to run. How their stomach lay flat as a board. How they always seemed to posses the shape of a V right above their...

"My lady." said Jon. His dark eyes widened upon seeing her, the candle behind her burning brightly enough to make her night shift thin as parchment. He turned away and Sansa cocked an eyebrow at the sight of the blush that entered his cheeks.

She jumped when she felt the heavyness of Jon's cloak wrap around her shoulders, the tickle of fur brushing her face like a whisper.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. More beautiful than the Northern girls with their dark hair. More beautiful than the girls of Essos with their golden skin. Even more beautiful than the maiden he had once seen in Lys, with her eyes as blue as ice.

With her cheeks glowing pink from the cold and her lifts soft and red as raspberries Jon had to look away from her to push the thoughts from his mind.

Any other man might have continued to stare, his lewd thoughts written plain as day upon his face. Benjen Stark might even have acted upon them. But Jon did not, his eyes finding interest in the grey stone beneath the soles of his boots.

"I wanted to thank you." he said. "For all you have done for me. Maester Luwin said I might have lost my arm below the elbow if you had not made it so the blood could continue to flow."

"I need no thanking." she said, not missing the way his eyes looked everywhere but at her. She shivered beneath the cloak, the action having little to do with the cold.

Sansa was sure Jon was about to speak but instead he only smiled and bowed his head for a moment. "Lady Storm."

"Sansa." she replied lightly. She was surprised by the pleasantness of her voice and blushed. "I'll give you back your cloak-" she said, begining to undo the buttons Jon's fingers had just done up.

"No." he said. "A gift to you. For your kindness." his dark eyes seemed to grow even deeper. "Sansa." he bowed deeply. She returned his bow with a curtsy.

"Jon." she said. That night she slept in the cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. I have been recovering from surgery so you musnt be too cross with me :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	5. The River

It was cold. Colder than she had ever felt and ever wished to feel. Her skin had turned hard as stone from the rigidity of the snow, the storm worsening from the start of their journey until large crags of hale rained down upon them and struck their skin hard enough to leave bruises.

Jeyne Poole had risen Sansa early in the morning, before even the sun had made its ascent, and she had dressed in enough layers to insulate a ham. Woolen riding breeches and stiff leather gloves, a soft silk undershirt to seal in the heat below several cloth tunics.

Yet still she shiver uncontrollably, buried so deep beneath Jon's furs that she seemed half bear herself, the black a sharp contrast against the otherwise white landscape.

The retinue was small and went largely unnoticed, though the black furs were conspicuous. Sansa had bade her goodbyes earlier that morning, bowing before the Lord of Winterfell and the maester in the large hall before saying a more private goodbye to Jeyne Poole, wishing her happiness and thanking her for her help.

Septa Mordane seemed to enjoy the cold as much as Sansa, lashing her horse to that of Benjen Stark's and tucking her arms against her breast in hopes of warmth. A little warmth. Any warmth. Sansa had done the same, the leather reins only adding to her discomfort and she had gratefully handed them over to Jon the second time he had asked.

At the start of the journey he had rode at the head of the party, chatting animatedly with Benjen and Samwell Tarly yet after they stopped to rest the horses and rest themselves he had ridden farther back, the spot beside Sansa one he occupied for the rest of the day and when she awoke the next morning, found he had taken the same spot once more.

The ground had been as cold as the air though Benjen had mowed away the snow before pitching the tent she was to share with the septa. She had slept no more than a wink, her heart jumping to her throat each time she remembered hearing the words King Rhaegar. She had log ago given up the thought that this was a terrible, ill-placed joke and the knights and lords and ladies were paid actors like she had so often seen at the theater with Jaime.

The thought of him instinctively brought sharp tears to her eyes and though she wished nothing more than to hide them the winter made that quite difficult, the salty tears turning to ice instantly against her long, dark lashes. Jon cast her a worried look but said nothing and she was grateful for it.

Jon offered to walk her to the river where Sansa wished to wash her face and arms despite the coldness but she declined, the thought simultaneously making her shiver and flit with excitement. She shed her gloves easily, lying them flat on a mound of snow before she dipped her hands into the water and nearly yelped. She had been expecting the cold but this...she could not ever have imagined it. Yet still her urge to bathe was sudden and overwhelming and she forced down her face into the icy spray.

It made her heart beat loud and fast as thunder and she nearly screamed, her skin reddening as though she had been struck. She rocked back on her heels, shivering when a branch snapped and she instantly rose to her feet.

"What have we here?" came a voice. A man in a brown skin tunic had appeared at her side and another just behind her, his booted foot the one that had first broken the branch that alerted her to their presence.

She shrunk away and felt her foot sink into the frozen river, her muscles going numb from cold. "A pretty little thing." said the other man. "Alone on this winter's day. Dressed like a proper northern woman she is. Where have you stolen these from?" he flicked the collar of her tunic.

"Come along, pretty girl." said the man and as she tried to move away grabbed her, pulling her very close to him. Close enough to smell the sourness of his breath. "Don't you know better than to disobey a Lannister?"

The other had her pinned against his front and she could feel the curve of his manhood through his breeches, pressed against her hip as though she expected her to raise her dress for him.

"Such pretty red hair." he admired. "I wonder if the color is the same all around..." his eyes dropped lower and she struggled harder, the hand that had clamped around her mouth forcing the breath from her lungs.

He had taken a handful of her gown and was forcing it upward, though the layers she wore made that difficult. His hand went to his breeches, forcing them down until he nearly sprung free had it not been for his small clothes. She saw a flash and ducked instantly. Her dress was torn and her bare thighs pressed against the snowy bank painfully.

But not as painfully as the knife that pierced her attacker's thigh. Benjen Stark descended upon her. In his movements he was as graceful as a dancer, one hand reaching up to unpin the brooch that held together his cloak, laying it down around her to cover the bits of skin both cold and shameful. And the other hand held a sword, the iron reflecting in the soft light. He had forced back the other man and sent him stumbling down with his breeches about his ankles until he fell facedown in the snow just as Sansa had.

Jon was at her side, his uninjured arm bracing his own sword. "My lady!" he shouted. Snow clogged her ears and she had barely heard him before he appeared at her side.

"You'll hurt your arm!" she heard herself say as he switched the sword to the other hand and offered her the good one. Benjen's cloak covered her from head to toe and as Jon lifted her to her feet she resembled a black specter, swinging in Jon's arm like a child.

"What are you going to do to them?" asked Samwell, sheathing his sword in one motion.

"Leave them." said Jon.

"Leave them?" repeated Benjen incredulously.

"Leave them as they would have left m'lady Sansa." And so they returned to their saddles with two men in their dust, stripped of clothing and chained by the wrist and ankle to a particularly brambly bush with nothing but their socks to warm them.

"Are you alright?" asked Jon Snow.

"Y-yes, my lord." Sansa replied shakily.

"Do not let her from your sight again!" said Benjen and though the words were harsh the tone was nothing but pleasant, his concern showing through both eyes and action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	6. The Kingsroad

The Northern lands were both familiar yet unfamiliar. Sansa had seen many photographs in her books, the overgrown foliage, the wisps of snow and ice that stuck to everything as if it had been pasted there. She felt the most familiar sense of deja vu the first time she had first reared her horse along the path.

Suddenly she was transported back to her bed chamber where Jaime Lannister had laid across the soft mattress, the book in his lap pulled close to his bespectacled eyes.

So clearly she could see it. His golden hair and eyes as green as the jade pendant he had once bought her. With his knees pulled to his chest and his nose wrinkled as it always did when he read she could see clearly see the words, "James Lannister" written across the leather bound cover of the book.

She could almost laugh. She could almost cry.

When they returned from the river Sansa found the Septa had packed only a few garments in the trunk pulled along by Samwell Tarly's horse and she changed quickly, shedding the blue ribbons that had become her gown for another.

From his place at her side Jon offered to clamp the buttons at her wrists for her when she could not reach and when he had finished he lifted a soft, callused finger to wipe away the tear that had lost its way along the slope of her cheek. But again he said nothing, clicking his teeth in a motion to urge forward the mare.

His horse had kept a solid pace beside hers, even when the other men in the party teased and jested he only grinned and shrugged his shoulders. She could still feel their hands upon her, the grip of one of the men tight enough to leave bruises on her upper arm. Even through a war she had never been spoken to like that...touched like that.

She shivered again despite the cold and felt Jon's eyes shift onto her. "I'm sorry, m'lady." he whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't with you. Lord Bran asked that I-"

"It's all right, Jon." she replied though her hands were closed so tightly around the horses reins she could feel them cutting into the soft skin of her palm. "I didn't think-"

"This is not your fault!" he said sharply. "When I think what would have happened if..." He didn't finish.

"I owe Lord Benjen a debt." said Sansa.

"One that need not be repaid." said Benjen. She had not realised the man could hear her nor had she seen him slow his horse to fall in step with them. "You are a lady and those men were pigs. I care not for trouble with the Lannister pigs. I would do it all again and maybe worse this time."

Sansa nodded her head softly, letting the dark curtain of her hair hang before her face.

She missed Jaime enough to vomit at the though, choosing instead to turn her thoughts from him and face the cold and darkness ahead.

When they made camp for the night Sansa accepted a chalice of wine she had declined the previous nights downing the cup quickly enough to elicit a round of hollers from the men. But Benjen refilled her glass without comment, speaking softly to her. "Drink your fill, m'lady. Drink more than your fill if you wish it. You need not be so guarded with us."

But she did. Wine had always made her lose her wits and now if she were to speak unguardedly before the knights...what would they say if they knew the truth? The truth of the heart tree ans the war and of Jaime...she did not wish to find out.

Most nights she shared a tent with Septa Mordane, the linen soft and thin enough to see the stars through. But when the snow fell to heavily they shared a single tent, the fabric sturdy and thick and after the sun had made its descent it was pitch black beneath it. But the snores of the men kept her awake for hours anyway. And in truth she did not feel fully comfortable with these men. Not yet.

Sansa's mare was a difficult one. She fussed and danced and neighed at all hours of the day, stumbling among the crags of dark rock and stepping heavily upon the holes beneath the snow. It was not long before she was injured, the soft skin beneath her silver horseshoe swelling red and angry and growing so sore the horse could no longer run let alone walk.

"Ye can ride with me lady!" called one of the men bawdily.

"No she rides weth me!" came another.

But she shied away, offering the hand Jon had offered gratefully. In one motion he had swung her into the saddle before him as easily as though she were a quails feather pushed along by the wind.

The saddle was large enough to house them both and along the rough terrain of the Kingsroad Jon held her around the waist to ensure she would not slip from the saddle. One hand held the horses reins and the other her hip, careful not to touch her inappropriately, apologising each time his hand should slip high enough to graze her breast or low enough to touch her thigh.

"Are you sure you are not cold?" she asked. He had long ago surrendered his furs to her, choosing to wear something far lighter.

"I have northern bones, my lady." he said. "I do not feel the cold." Yet his skin was pink as a blush and his lips blue as the blossoms of a winter rose.

"I would rather you wear something. At least something. These furs are large enough to share."

She was glad he did not make a crude comment but instead remained impassive, pausing a moment before unlacing the ties of her furs and spreading them to encompass them both. Sansa was more than glad for speaking.

As she leaned against Jon's chest she could feel his warmth, seeping into her bones and warming her as well. He shivered for only a moment before he stopped, whispering his gratitude for her offer as he continued to steer forward the horse.

"My mother was nearly..." he trailed off. "She was going through the city without a proper guard. The man was distracted. Most like by the entrance to a brothel. But she was pulled away from the main roads into an alley and they..." he cleared his throat. "Tore her clothes and held a knife to her throat."

Sansa frowned, her eyes widening. "Did she...did they?"

He shook his head, sucking in a breath. "No. My father arrived. She still does not know how. She says all of a sudden she saw a flash of silver and there he was. Bashed the man over the head with the butt of his blade and cast him from the city with as much clothes as he had left my mother with."

She gave a faint smile. "It's easy to see where you learned your courage and chivalry from." He grinned, the colour returning to his cheeks as he did so.

"They say they never saw a better harp player than Rhaegar. But I never saw a better swordsman. And he loves my mother more than I have ever seen anyone love another. As much as I hope to one day love my wife."

Sansa gave him a confused look. "I don't understand. You said your name was Snow."

"Aye." he assented. "I'd rather not be addressed as Prince if I can help it. What's another Snow in the north?"

"But then you're..."

"The King's son." said Benjen Stark. "We offered to roll out a red carpet before his horse but his royal highness declined."

Sansa coloured, pulling the furs tighter around herself. "I'm sorry I didn't know...I've been calling you Jon. I should have-"

"You should have nothing, m'lady Sansa." his smile was sideways, a charming look for the man. "Your words are too precious to waste on useless pretence." her blush deepened significantly, the burn crossing her cheeks and cross her neck so hot she was sure he could feel it even if he could not see it.

"And either way I prefer to know if a beautiful woman liked me for my shining personality or my crown. I've been fooled before." She smiled again.

"I can honestly say I like you more than any other prince I've ever met."

"But my lady you said you do not know any princes!" interrupted Septa Mordane, revealing her eavesdropping. But Sansa only smiled again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!! Jon is a royal!


	7. The Golden Stranger

Chapter Seven

Sansa was not quite sure what to say around Prince Jon anymore. From the start of their journey he had been sweet to her, except for the occasional ribald joke from the other men that warranted a chuckle from him, but a prince….

Sansa had never before met a prince. Of course she knew of their existence. After the war Prince Rhaegar III had paraded around the city in a float made of fresh summer roses and pure steel, so heavy that it left the cobblestone streets scraped and broken, riddled with crags of stone in his wake. But Rhaegar III was ostentatious and rude and belittling where Jon was not. He had affairs with every woman at his court, married or unmarried. He was crude and already fat and balding at a relatively young age.

But Jon…

She had made the mistake of addressing him as ‘Prince Jon’ loudly enough for the rest of their party to hear. Benjen had barked out a laugh and the other men took turns slapping Jon on the back. “Aye, my lord!” they jested. “If only my lady called me prince in bed!”

“Knock it off you lot!” Jon had replied, seeing the flush of red in Sansa’s pale cheeks.

“Oh!” they only teased more. “Wouldn’t want to insult his royal highness!”

Their procession was small but continued their journey unnoticed for the majority of their route. When they stopped in a small northern city to water their horses and replenish their food rations Jon was recognized and instantly bowed and scraped too, hands reaching out on every side to beg for gold and favours.

Sansa had walked beside Benjen, lest she risk injury keeping her place beside Jon. Every maiden in the village had come out once they heard news of the Prince’s arrival. They had dressed in their bests quickly, hair half curled and rouge splattered across their lips. They curtsied deeply to him, smiling coyly behind their hands. In fact they bowed so low their bodies could be seen all the way down to the navel when their shirts pushed open strategically.

The men had a riot at this, but Jon only greeted each lady politely but sparingly and moved along quickly, grabbing loaves of fresh bread and running.

They had nearly reached The Neck when Benjen swore and reeled back the reins in his hands, his horse pulling instantly to the side. “Riding party!” he cried.

Jon instantly understood and his horse moved as quickly as Benjen’s had, seeking shelter among the trees and high roots that grew beside the Kingsroad. “What-“ Sansa cried but her voice was lost between the scream of the wind and the roar of horses hooves.

The men had scattered into the wind. Septa Mordane was quieted instantly, hiding between Samwell Tarly and another man Sansa did not know.

With his free hand Jon wrenched the furs over Sansa’s head, pushing down upon her so that she shrunk down over the horn of the saddle. She let out a shout of fright, the pommel of the saddle digging into his ribs sharply. “Stay down!” Jon ordered at once. His body pressed down upon hers with so much force it was as if he was trying to absorb it into his own.

The party came quickly into sight. Flashes of gold armor and crimson cloaks were the first thing she could see as white horses trod down the road at a breakneck speed.

“Tracks show seven horses!” cried a voice. “Fresh. Mud is still wet. They veer off here-“ He quieted instantly and a sword was drawn, the steel glinting in the bright sunlight.

Jon had pushed her down from the horse, clumsily tying the mare to a branch and stuffing a sugar cube into her chomping mouth to quiet her. His furs were dark as the dirt around them and as he lay upon her they blended right into it. It would take someone standing right beside them before they were spotted.

But the same could not be said for Samwell Tarly, who wore a brownish green cloak, standing out among the dirt like blood on snow.

“There!” cried a voice. Like ants the men in red cloaks fanned out, weapons drawn.

“Stop!” Jon’s voice was like an arrow that pierced the air. The men paused at the command, looking over their shoulders for the man that had given the orders. “Stay down here.” He whispered to her, leading his horse by the reins to where the men sat in the city.

Their voices were lost then, the length between them too great for anything to be heard. A man came forward in golden armor so bright that it glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. He descended his horse in one fluid motion and pulled off the golden helm he wore.

Sansa choked out a gasp, her hands closing into fists in the mud. It was him. Her bookish husband come to rescue her from this unfamiliar place and take her back to a time when corsets were no longer necessary and swords were not ones weapon of choice.

She could see him as clear as day before her. His golden hair and clear, white teeth shining through his smile. There was no possible explanation other than James had gone looking for her among the castle ruins and stumbled upon the same fairy circle, time traveling tree that she had and come after her.

She did not know where he had gotten the armor but she knew if he were to see her he would wonder the same thing about her lavender gown, now sodden with mud.

Sansa was seized around the shoulders and hoisted to her feet. She let out a yelp of pain as a hand twisted in her hair and a knife was pressed to the underside of her neck.

She was dragged down the road until she stood beside Jon and Benjen once more, though in far more pain than she had been in before. “Jaime.” she cried. “Help please. Jaime!”

He turned to look at her and all at once she realized her mistake. A scar ran down his cheek from the underside of his eye to the corner of his mouth, angry and pink, the skin raised and shining. It was not a new scar. And his eyes. They were cold and hard and turned to slits as he looked upon her.

“You know me, lady?” the golden stranger asked.

She did not reply. “Let her go.” Said Jon. His voice was strong and deep and without question the blade was drawn from her neck and she was pushed aside, falling backward into the mud.

Jon offered a hand, helping her to her feet and pulling her behind him. “She rides with me.” he said. “You will not harm her. Nor any of my party.”

“Harm her?” the man asked with a short, cruel laugh. “No. Not yet anyway. She is to be brought up on charges. She murdered two of the Kingsguard.”

“They tried to rape her!” said Samwell Tarly, flinching as he said the word. “She didn’t-“

“You would bring up charges on a Prince’s lady?” asked Benjen Stark, spitting at the man’s feet. “Even you would not dare, Lannister.”

“I would not. That pleasure belongs to Lord Greyjoy for it was his lands my men were killed.” he chuckled again. “As for that, I see no lady here. Only a murderess and the men that have been fooled into defending her.”

“The only fool here is you, Jaime.” said Jon. “Are you so desperate for the favour of your father that you would defy a royal order.”

There was a flash of anger in his face so furious for a moment Sansa was sure he would reach out to strike Jon. But then he only gave a hard smile, his eyes flicking towards her. “You have not seen the last of me, lady.” He spat the word like it was a curse. “I will return. And when I do I will have the King’s word at my back.”

With that he was gone, swinging a leg into his saddle and pulling so sharply the mare gave a shriek before jerking into a gallop. Sansa did not miss the way he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes so cold that she felt gooseflesh rise on her muddy arms and she knew his vow would hold true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked protective jon and creepy jaime!


	8. Questions

Chapter Eight

Jon watched the men ride away with eyes filled with fury, his hands closed into fists at his sides. Benjen was spitting mad, instantly cursing their backs and shouting loudly enough to be heard, kicking dirt up with his heels as he paced. “I don’t understand.” Said Sansa. “I didn’t kill those men. I didn’t even touch those men. They touched me!”

“I know.” Said Jon. “I was there.”

“Surely the King will understand.” Said Samwell worriedly. “We could explain what happened. He is a just king.”

“Just.” Jon repeated. “Just he is. But he is also true. Doing anything to kingsguard knights in another Lord’s domain leaves the decision to that Lord.”

“We all know that Greyjoy favors Tywin Lannister over the King.” Said Benjen with a scoff, pushing his black hair back with a hand. “Tywin loves his family. Jaime could blow smoke up his arse all night and day and the old lion would believe him. He could say anything he wants about Sansa.”

“But Rhaegar would never let anything happen to her.” Sam insisted. “She’s the most innocent of us all in this.”

Jon growled. “I never should have let you go alone.” He said, his eyes pressing closed in frustration. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“I don’t understand.” She said, confused. “What are they going to do? Am I going to be arrested?”

“No.” Jon and Benjen said in the same moment. “Absolutely not.” Jon finished. “This is absurd!” he said with a laugh. “A lady is nearly dishonored before a lake and yet she is the only one prosecuted. Absurd.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “There must be something we can do. Maybe Greyjoy will listen. I could just tell him-“

“No.” said Benjen. “He won’t. Tough as an old boot that bastard.”

Sansa frowned. “How many more days before we reach King’s Landing?”

Jon took a breath to steady himself before answering, his fingers slowly threading through the mane of his horse and the effect seemed to calm him. “A fortnight. Perhaps longer. I’ve written ahead and Oberyn has offered to send a host out to meet us. Hopefully we will meet them around the Trident.”   

The name made bells flash in her mind. Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, brother to Queen Elia. The Red Viper of Dorne, if she could remember correctly. He was a great spearman and a great fighter overall.

“And what will a host do?” she said gruffly, crossing her arms across her chest. Her belly had gone hot with anger but the moment Jon turned to look at her she felt it melt away. “I don’t mean to be-“

“It’s alright.” He said, the corner of his mouth quirking. “It’s alright to be upset, my lady.” He lowered his voice to a whisper so only she could hear but by now Benjen and Samwell were engaged in a conversation of their own. “I have grown quite fond of you, my lady Sansa. I will do anything in my power to protect you from harm or penalty for actions I committed.”

“Aye.” nodded Sansa, looking up at her. “I trust you.”

And it was true. She had no reason not to trust the Prince of Westeros. He had done nothing but aid her in this journey and no matter what was to become of her, she would always be grateful for that.

When they stopped riding for the night Sansa turned her back to the fire to face the wall of dark, swaying trees that lay before her. Only then did she allow herself to cry. She cried for the loss of the husband she had loved and lost. She cried for the fate that hung uncertainly in the balance. She cried for the moment of hope she had felt today. A small, glimmering moment of hope when she thought Jaime had come to her aid.

She thought of the man who shared the face of her husband but nothing else. The scar he bore was ominous and from the first moment she saw him she had known the truth. Her Jaime had been a soldier, this was true. But a man drafted does not a violent man make.

Once he had told her about the things he had done while he was away from her. Horrible, violent things. Things a man or his sort should never do. But this stranger had certainly done them. He had taken pleasure in the discomfort and anger he had forced upon them. She had seen his eyes light up when her face had paled. The sweet, golden haired historian she had married would never have done such a thing.

From the other side of the camp Jon turned in his makeshift bed, the cot hard as the muddy ground beneath. Benjen was long asleep and Samwell beside him and though the wind was loud it was not constant, often giving way to allow Jon to hear the sniffling that rose from across the camp. But he dare not speak. He dare not do anything to show he was able to hear the poor, sad girl in his retinue. The sound was enough to make his heart ache, just as the sad songs his sister had once liked to sing about Nissa Nissa had once done.

Soon they would reach King’s Landing and Jon would once again see his family. Two months had not seemed so long apart from them when he had first left to see the Hand’s son at Winterfell but within the month he had ached to hear the sweet songs Daenerys sang each morning when she stood on the balcony of her privy chamber or practice swordsmanship with Aegon in the training circles outside the Red Keep. And even the Hand’s fiery daughter Arya, who he had seen sneaking a practice sword from the training barracks and trying to replicate the footwork she had seen her brother doing earlier.

“Jon?” Sansa whispered quizzically. Her voice had been so low that he was not sure he had actually heard her or just wished he had heard her. “Jon?” she questioned again. Foolishly, he pressed his eyes closed as though Sansa could see whether or not they were open in the thick darkness. “Thank you.” She whispered when she was sure he didn’t answer.


	9. The Red Keep

Chapter Nine

Jon was sure Sansa did not say more than two words for the next two days of their journey. She ate when she was offered food, slept when they made camp for the night, washed her face and hands in the river- with Benjen to accompany her at all times. But she did not speak.

“Are you unwell, lady?” asked Samwell Tarly. “I have forged my Maester’s chain in the Citadel. If you are feeling unwell surely I can help you.”

“I am well, sir.” Sansa whispered. Her hands were reddened from the roughness of the reins she had carried without break.

Since their encounter with the Lannister riding party Jon had been unwilling to stop or even slow if they did not have to. For the first day they had ridden straight through the night, Sansa’s horse tethered to Jon’s so that she may sleep while riding. Her back and neck had become stiff as a board after that and the men had become so drowsy that Jon was sure if they were attacked they would all succumb to the blade.

Septa Mordane was ever-dutiful septa to Sansa, caring for the silent women. The satchel she had brought contained only three pairs of riding trousers and two gowns but they had been soiled by the mud and moist snow of the Neck. So the Septa had hemmed a pair of Benjen’s trousers, lucky that he was so slim of waist, and Sansa had taken to them quickly, the fabric must less rough and thin than that of her gown.

“It should not be much longer.” Said Benjen as they came upon Harrenhaal. If they rode without break for the next three days they would reach King’s Landing soon. He could only hope Jaime Lannister would not reach them before then.

“Sansa.” Jon said. He rod at her side, their reins interlocked so his mare would not scare again, as it has the day before, nearly bucking Jon from his back. “May I ask why…”

“I knew him.” she whispered. Her eyes were red and swollen, her dark lashes frozen with tears. “I thought I knew him at least. He looks so much like my James…”

“Your husband.” Jon said to clarify.

She nodded, sniffling. “He looked so like him. I just thought if he saw me he would know me.” she said. “His eyes…I knew he was different. His eyes were too…empty. Cruel. I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

“No.” said Jon. “I loved a woman long ago.” His face flashed through his mind and he could practically feel her warm skin brush against his cheek as she kissed him, her crooked teeth showing as she smiled. “If I had thought there was even a chance of seeing her again I would have done the same as you.”

She looked up at him, her face softening. “I was foolish. I almost caused harm to come to you when you have been so kind to me.” It was Jon’s turn to smile now but he did not speak, careful not to betray the words he had exchanged with Benjen earlier.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” she whispered after a few minutes of silence had passed between them.

Jon paused before answering. “Yes.” He met Sansa’s eyes, finding them flushed with fear. “But we will protect you.”

The Crownlands was lush and full of foliage and soon after they crossed the Green Trident Sansa shed the cloak Jon had lent her, for its warmth was too great and she soon began to sweat. It was almost like Highgarden, she thought. From the moment she had met the wall of trees that lined the Crownlands she was reminded of it.

When the war had first started she and James had just been officially married, enjoying the first weeks of their union. Tensions had already been high among the country and there was a great shortage of many things, including precious metals and Sansa’s wedding right had been made of sculpted pearl. Even now when she looked down at her finger she could see the shining ring that she had lost so long ago.

It made her feel emptier still to know that she had not only lost the right but lost her husband as well, both floating around somewhere she could not reach. The thought made tears spring to her eyes and she turned away from Jon, hopeful that he had not seen them but sure that he had. 

They once again fell onto the Kingsroad as they crossed the countryside and where the streets had once been empty they were not bustling with life. People of all stations were among them, carrying carts and wagons and accompanied by riding parties or children.

Sansa was bustled about and Jon’s horse had already proved to scare easily, forcing Jon to hold the reins tightly, as nervous as the mare. Along the side of the street vendors cried their wares, offering fresh fruits or jewels or even carved wooden figures of the royal family.

A immediate rumble went thought he crowd upon the sight of their Prince, people bowing and calling out their fealty or calling for donations. Jon bristled with discomfort, offering pleasant smiles or kind words but did not slow. He seemed even more desperate to reach the city now that he was so close, aching for the comfort of his own bed and a meal of fresh food.

Once they reached the gates of the city Benjen jumped down from his saddle and led his horse by the reins, taking Sansa’s reins as well.

The city was massive and it engulfed her completely, the moist air sending shivers down her spine. The air smelled of unwashed bodies and mud, the dry sand that packed the streets wet from rain and sticking to her boots and the hem of her gown as thick as honey.

She was glad Benjen was beside her for she was sure she had lost the rest of her party in the mass of people that shuffled through the streets of the Capital. In the distance she could see the Red Keep, as Samwell had called it. It stood tall and wide, the stone reflecting the light of the sun and glittering like washed marble.

Benjen gave her a reassuring grin as he offered his arm, Sansa linking her arm with his. She had promised she was not nervous but the tightness of her grip upon his arm proved otherwise. “Do not fear, lady.” Said he, patting her hand. “King’s Landing is the safest place in the Seven Kingdoms. For you at least.”

She looked at him sharply. “For me?” she asked, a crimson eyebrow arching.

Benjen opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the marching of feet. Turning they found a group of soldiers were approaching them and Sansa took a sudden step back, her grip tightening upon Benjen’s arm. The knights were completely engulfed in armor, dressed in shining crimson and black. Their helms had been brought down so she could not see their faces, watching as they towered above her and formed a half circle around their party so the crowds would avoid them.

“Your grace.” Said one of the men. Sansa was not sure which, the voice muffled by the closed helm. “We are glad to see you have returned so quickly from the North.”

“I am as well.” Said Jon in greeting. His face was pale from fatigue and his eyes hooded, dark circles beneath his eyes showing the days he had gone without a wink of sleep. “Is the King in council?”

“No, your grace.” Said the guard. “He sent us to meet you at the gate.”

“Aye.” Said Jon, his eyes cutting to Sansa. “I would speak with him.”

Their horses were taken by one of the guards as they walked back, the mares neighing angrily and dancing with nervousness as they moved through the crowd.

Sansa was amazed by the city. It had seemed massive from afar but even more so now, the twists and turns of the streets so vast that she did not know how the guards knew where they were going.

“That is the Sept.” said Samwell Tarly, hurrying to catch up with her. He gestured to the building at her left, the sept standing nearly as tall as the castle and just as decorated, the flow of people coming in and out of the doors constant. “The Seven are worshipped in the city.”

Sansa could only nod, listening as Sam went on about many of the historic and cultural buildings in the city. She was too tired and too nervous to listen, suddenly very aware of the looks she was being given and the hungry that raked at her stomach.

The castle itself was so large that it sent shivers down her spine as she stood before it, the knights swinging open the gate to allow them to pass through. True to its name the castle glowed red and the marble was bright enough to make her eyes water it as the sun reflected upon it, brighter and brighter the closer she got.

“Jon.” Sansa breathed. She was bathed in darkness as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her stomach had tightened like a chord about to snap and she felt the sickening sense of unease within her only grow once she had entered the Red Keep. “I…I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Be easy.” He whispered. “The King only wants to speak to you.” Jon was unsure of how to answer, unwilling to have the copper haired woman at his side shoot for the door should she find out the truth.


	10. Your Grace

Chapter Ten

Standing at the head of the throne room Jon watched their faces as they saw her, the courtly people falling silent for the first time in their lives. Sansa crossed the room as regal as a queen though her eyes were wide as a doe in a hunt.

Her skin glowed with the reflection of the sunlight that streamed through the stained glass windows and the pitter-patter of the summer rain that had begun to fall was the only sound in the hall. It was a marvel to Jon, who had never before heard the court this quiet. Even when King Rhaegar had feared an attack upon the city the people had managed to find something to cluck about.

But now they exchanged shocked looks, whispering gently behind their hands or paper fans, their eyes flitting back and forth between Sansa and the King. The men in the hall watched her enviously. Even the Kingsguard, their eyes half hidden by the masks of their helms, watched her every move, seeming to study the sway of her hip or the patter of her boots against the tile.

Jon imagined he was seeing her through their eyes.

He too had been struck by her beauty the first time he had entered the hall at Winterfell to find her sitting beside Bran. And now seeing her within the walls of the palace in the capital…he could not imagine their surprise.

Rhaegar Targaryen had risen from the throne as soon as she had entered the room, his face schooled into expressionless though his violet eyes had widened a bit. Jon had written to his father to inform him of their pending arrival but still the King looked as shocked as though Sansa had been produced from thin air by the sorcerers of Essos.

 Sansa curtsied deeply and as she bent forward a pin fell from her hair and set it tumbling down her back, making the moment all the more dramatic. He could already hear the mummers whispering song lyrics about the sweet maiden with fire in her hair.

 Sansa was as weary as Jon from their travel but from her expression they would never know it from her expression. “Your grace.” Said Sansa.

Her voice had been quiet but after all other voices in the hall had gone silent Jon could have heard a pin drop. “Lady Sansa.” Said Rhaegar.

Sansa was shocked by the smoothness of his voice. The history books had been able to capture his build and looks but not his mannerisms and she was surprised when he strode towards her, held out his arms, and pulled her into a deep embrace.

Jon felt his eyebrows raise when the King leaned over to whisper something into her ear that made her expression go blank. But there was little time to ponder what he had said for with a clap of Rhaegar’s hands the room came alive once more. The women of court seemed satiated by the bit of gossip they had just witnessed and bubbled away, speaking of Sansa’s sudden appearance and the King’s embrace as though they were the only ones who had seen it.

Jon heard the doors slam and the patter of feet against the tile and before he had even heard her voice he knew what was coming.

Daenerys embraced him tightly, her thin arms around his middle tight as the string of a bow. “Jon!” she greeted, kissing both his cheeks. “My sweet boy you have been away far too long!”

He grinned, kissing her in return. Even since his birth he had never been sure how she had been able to be so full of life for such a slight thing. 

Dany looked around for a moment before spotting Sansa. The maiden stood out of the crowd like flame in a dark night and Jon was sure that within days the court would be filled with red haired ladies who wore their hair plaited like northerners.

“Is it true?” she whispered, looking up at him. “Is it truly her?”

“Aye.” Said Benjen Stark, standing suddenly at his side. His dark eyes washed down Dany’s body, taking in the crimson fabric she was wearing an admiring how lovely she looked in it. “It is true.”

“Have you called them then?” asked Daenerys Targaryen. “They will want to know.”

“The King has done just so.” Said Jon. “They should return to the capital quickly.”

And quickly it was, though it felt like a fortnight before a guard burst into the hall to announce their arrival. Daenerys had spirited Sansa away to her chambers where she was receiving a bath and changing into a fresh pair of clothes. Jon could barely move from fatigue and yet he could not break away from the hall, pacing anxiously for the first hour before abandoning his position by the window and taking a seat between his father and the seat his mother had once occupied.

Sansa returned to the hall in a flourish of lights, though Jon was sure that was just in his mind. She looked as lovely as though she had been bathed in the waters of the Seven, her pale skin replenished and rejuvenated after their long journey.

She wore something of Dany’s Jon was sure, from the color and cut of the fabric. It was not something he could ever imagine Sansa choosing willingly but she looked lovely nonetheless. Her hair shone like flame, shining brightly as copper after it had been combed by Dany, his aunt grinning like a fiend as she watched Jon watch Sansa.

“She is a lovely creature.” Said Benjen. “Mind your gawking.” He teased, elbowing Jon in the side. “You are a man betrothed.”

“Not officially.” Jon muttered.

“Ah so you do have interest in breaking your engagement for the fiery northerner.” Said Benjen.

But Jon did not even have time to flush let alone respond for the doors burst open in a flurry and once again the voices fell silent.

Catelyn Stark stood at the mouth of the wide door with her husband at her side, both looking pale as snow and gaunt. It was clear they had braced themselves for another disappointment. Eddard Stark found his brother in the crowd and held his gaze for a moment before Benjen jerked his chin to the front of the room and Ned followed it.

Sansa had looked up to see the source of the sudden commotion and had found her feet. She felt as thought she had been run through by something sharp, the breath gone from her lungs in an instant. Catelyn Stark let a tear run over her cheek.

“Mother.” Sansa breathed.

Jon felt his stomach heave.


	11. King's Landing

Chapter Eleven

In her mind Sansa could still see James lying on his back in the grass, his face bearing more scars then it ever had. She could see the bullet that had grazed his cheek and left a raised white scar in its wake, the bomb that had exploded metal pieces of shrapnel into the back of his head, the small patch of hair never growing back the same way again.

He was himself of course. This was the James Lannister she had married just a few hours ago in the small hall in her blood stained nurses stripes and his suit pinned with his militia awards. She had been so proud to stand at his side on that day and take his hands in hers and kiss him under the wreath of white roses to seal their marriage.

Their wedding night had been just as she expected. They had always fit together nicely, their passion only stronger due to the fact that, even though they did not speak of it, they both knew they might never see each other again after tomorrow.

“It was a lovely wedding.” James had whispered, kissing the side of her face. Her back had been pressed to his chest, one of his hands tickling her face softly. “A simple ceremony but no less lovely.”

“Indeed.” Sansa had said. Her chest had continued to heave and her face flush deeper pink from exertion. “I only wish…”

“What?” her Jaime had asked, propping himself up on his elbow. His brows had furrowed and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes appeared as they always did when he showed concern.

“I wish Nanny Jordan could have been here today.” She had said. “She was like a mother to me.”

Nanny Jordan had been just another thing the war had taken from her. The woman had always been the sweetest women in the orphanage, always offering small toffees and sewing the girl’s torn clothing or kissing their scraped elbows or knees after they fell when.

Sansa had not seen her parents for more than twenty years but ached for them nearly everyday. “I am your family now.” James had whispered. “We don’t need parents. We have each other.”

But now Sansa was standing in the midst of an empty room with Jon Snow and the two people she knew were the parents she had lost. She did not know how or why but it was as though the Gods had intervened in that very moment to clear her eyes and show the truth.

“Mother.” Sansa breathed again. “Father.”

Her vision was so blurred with tears that she could barely see them anymore, feeling the salt run down her cheek and the corner of her lips. Her chest felt heavy as an anvil yet hollow, staring out at the people she had once known.

“Is it truly you?” Said Lady Catelyn, her voice cracking.

“We’ve been fooled before.” said Lord Stark. His face was just as red as Sansa’s, his eyes swimming. “I don’t think my heart can take another lie.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know if am who you’re looking for.” Sansa said. Jon felt wildly out of place, desiring nothing more than to return back in time and never bring her to the capital. He wished to apologize, to swoop the crying girl into his arms and comfort her.

“May I see your arm?” asked Eddard Stark, ever polite. Sansa’s eyes were red as wine and swollen, the sadness and fatigue suddenly showing plain on her face. She offered her arm to the Hand of the King and he gave a faint smile, looking to her for permission before rolling up her sleeve.

“What are you looking for?” asked Jon.

“Our Sansa has a scar in the shape of a semi circle in the crook of her elbow just…there.” said Eddard, his index finger finding the scar. It was fainter now after years had passed, the marred flesh silver in the shining light. “And another on her shoulder.” He looked embarrassed. “I am sorry my lady, I just cannot take another disappointment.”

Sansa said nothing but turned towards Jon, offering her back for his assistance with her bodice. He felt his breath catch as he reached forward, his fingers nimble and quick as he undid the pins and buttons that held together the back of her gown and revealed the corset she wore beneath.

Jon could see it. The scar on her shoulder was bright as molten metal and as long and large as he remembered and it sent a jolt through him so sharp he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Heat curled in his belly but he dare not show it, finishing his task and taking two steps away lest he linger a moment too long and interrupt the private moment.

“What is it, Jon?” asked Catelyn Stark, concerned. Her hands twisted into her skirt nervously and her lips pressed so firmly together that they began to glow white.

“It’s her.” Jon breathed. They had been riding for just over a fortnight and as each day passed Jon was more and more sure that this Sansa was their Sansa.

He could remember the scar vividly. He could remember the moment vividly. In his nightmares he could still see her face.

It was his fifth nameday when he, Robb, Sansa, and Dany had been playing in the Capital when someone had tried his life. He had only seen flashes of the events as they transpired. The scream of metal as swords clashed. The blank look in Sansa’s eyes as she lost her footing and fell into Jon’s arms. The wetness of blood on his hands

“Sansa.” Catelyn choked out. “It’s you.”

Sansa’s lip quivered and she looked down at her feet. The emotion in her eyes was so great that Jon felt the need to cry as well. “Why did you leave me?” she whispered, so small and fragile.

“Leave you?” Catelyn repeated. Her hands had gone to fists, twisting with nervousness. “My sweet girl you disappeared. You and Robb and Jon were playing in the crypts of Winterfell the last time I saw you. After that…the boys came running. They said you were playing in the Godswood and you were gone. We searched for you for years. The King searched for you for months. Everyone did. Every inch of Westeros and Essos. You were gone and we thought you were dead.”

Jon stood back as they fell into each others arms, a muddle of tears and sweet words and affection they had not been able to show for years. “How did you know it was us?” asked Catelyn. “You called me mother. You were only three years when you disappeared. How did you know us?”

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t know. I just…had an image in my head of what my parents looked like. Red hair, blue eyes, tall and strong. The moment I saw you I knew.”

Catelyn rushed away to call Robb and Arya while Eddard returned to speak to the King of the discovery that had just been made, leaving Jon and Sansa alone in the empty room.

He offered her a square of fabric to wipe away her tears. “Thank you, Jon. Thank you for everything you’ve done. You...thank you.” She whispered, looking embarrassed. There was a pause before she looked up at him purposefully and pulled him into her arms, embracing him as tightly as she had done with her parents.

Her body was slight in his arms, her hair smelling of sweet rosewater and lavender. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you.” He whispered into her hair, his chin resting upon her head. “If I was wrong…I couldn’t bear to see you disappointed.”

She made no effort to break their embrace. “We were friends.” She whispered. “Close friends. Like family.” It was almost a question instead of a statement.

“Yes.”

“For eighteen years I had no family and now I have a full one.” She mused. “It’s remarkable.”

He offered his arm and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, Jon leading them to the door. “Come. The King will want to hear all about your disappearance.”

Her smile fell.


	12. At Court

Chapter Eleven

The room was empty save for them and as they spoke their voices echoed off the walls and reflected back at them and as soon as Jon had spoken the voices seemed to grow fifteen times louder.

Sansa’s face was as flushed as though the sun had burned her; bright as the auburn hair Dany had bound with a copper wire and lay over a plait in her shoulder.

Since meeting King Rhaegar Sansa had been surprised to see such a lack of resemblance between he and his son but now, as Jon’s brow furrowed with concern and he leaned towards her, they were nearly twins. If Jon had suddenly sprouted shining silver hair they would have been impossible to tell apart.

Just an hour ago Sansa had commanded the throne room as though she was the Queen, every eye falling upon her but now she seemed as small and fragile as an injured bird, closed in upon herself.

“Should I call Sam?” asked Jon. “You look unwell.”

“Jon…” she breathed, holding out a hand to balance herself on the end of a chair. Sansa looked on the verge of fainting and he took a step towards her just in case she did just so.

“Jon I can’t.” she said. Her lips were as soft and swollen as strawberries and though she had stopped crying her eyes were still tinged pink and puffy. “I cannot go in there and tell him what happened to me.”

Jon’s frown deepened. “What do you mean? Were you…abducted?” 

Sansa knew the story of Lady Lyanna and how heavily it weighed upon the Stark family…her family. And Jon had always been close with the Starks.

She shook her head. “No, not abducted. But I can’t say. Jon, you will think me a witch.”

“Never.” He offered a small smile, reaching out to take her hand. “We’ve been friends for years and we will continue to be friends for years.”

Sansa grinned. “You are a good man, Jon Targaryen, and a good friend. But even so…I can’t.”

“You do not have to tell me anything, my lady.” Said Jon, squeezing her hand. “Things you do not wish to share you do not have to. As for the King he can be sated, if just for now. You need a good night’s rest, it will replenish you.”

When they returned to the throne room arm in arm it was enough to send the court into a tizzy and Jon was sure there would be rumors of his betraying his engagement traversing the kingdom within the next hour. The Tyrell’s would have a field day with that one.

Court had resumed without them, even though Jon was sure there would have been many listening at the doors if the kingsguard hadn’t been present to prevent it.

Rhaegar Targaryen was seated upon the massive Iron throne with Viserys and Daenerys on either side of him, Viserys looking as arrogant and bored as he always did and Dany having a lively chat with her brother, most likely about Drogon’s field training based on the hand movements she made.

Catelyn Stark had disappeared, most likely writing Robb and trying to find Arya who was off somewhere with Aegon, exploring the city as they so often did. It was a moment before Jon realized the bells of the Sept were ringing continuously and when he raised an eyebrow at Dany his father seemed to realize Jon had returned and jumped to his feet.

“Jon!” he cried, clapping for silence in the hall. “Lady Sansa, I am so glad to see you again. The last time you stood before me you were this tall-” He gestured to his leg, just above the knee. “And you and my son were playing knights and maidens though-“ he lowered his voice, grinning from ear to ear. “-Jon was the maiden and you a fearsome knight.”

Sansa smiled weakly. Jon was amazed by how quickly she had adopted the armor of kindness she so often bore. The four seconds it took for them to move through the doorway of the side hall and enter the throne room it was though a new woman had arrived, her eyes no longer red, her lips no longer swollen. Perhaps she was a witch, Jon teased. “And I am glad to see you again your grace.”

“Do you hear the bells?” he asked. “They ring for you! To announce to all the city that you have returned to the Capital. It is a joyous day.”

Daenerys beamed. Viserys looked interested in the slit of Sansa’s dress that bore her thigh ever so slightly. “I am glad to once more be with my family.”

“You must tell me everything you have encountered since your sudden departure!” said Rhaegar.

It was Jon’s turn to speak now, ascending the dais to stand beside the Iron Throne. “Father.” He said, lowly enough so that the crowd could not hear, even as they leaned closer to try and piece together more gossip. “Lady Sansa is very weak from our journey. Perhaps we should continue this discussion tonight after she has gotten her rest.”

Rhaegar’s silver eyebrows jumped. “You must think me horribly rude!” he said apologetically. “In my excitement I forgot that you have been on horseback for a fortnight. Please, seek your rest, Sansa. We will speak when you are able.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Said Sansa. “I look forward to it.”

“Jon, would you escort her to her chambers?” Rhaegar added quickly, noticing Viserys was standing from his chair to do this very thing.

The moment they had escaped the throne room Sansa dimmed like a candle that had been blown out and Jon was almost sure he would have to carry her to her apartments.

“Sleep long and sleep well.” Said Jon, standing before the door of her chamber. “The King will not rouse you until tonight. Knowing him I believe he will throw a feast in your honor, if not tonight then certainly tomorrow. He has always been one for celebration, especially for those close to him.”

“Thank you, Jon.” she said. “I know I have said that a hundred times but I don’t think I can ever stop.”

“You saved my life twice now, once when we were children and once at Winterfell. I will anything in the world I can do to held yours.”  He said before giving her one last look and closing the door behind him.

Court had been dismissed for the day by the time Jon returned and he found Rhaegar and Oberyn in deep discussion with Eddard Stark who was grinning from ear to ear. The Sept bells had yet to stop either, he noticed, their sound filling the entire room.

“How does it feel?” Oberyn Martell asked.

“I lost Lyanna once.” Ned said. “And Sansa was always so like her. So fiery and full of life. You should have seen how many times Sansa knocked Robb and Jon in the dirt when they were play fighting. And then when I lost her…it was like losing Lyanna all over again.”

Oberyn nodded. “When I lost Elia I can’t imagine what it might have been like to lose Obara or Nym.”

Ned turned to Jon and pulled out a seat for him, patting the wooden chair so he would sit down. “Please. Tell me where you found her.” 

All eyes turned to him and Jon felt a lump rise in his throat. “We were riding to Winterfell on the way back from Castle Black when we were set upon by a Lannister raiding party.” All three men instinctively let out a groan at the words. Jon had pulled up his sleeve to show them the criss-cross of cuts that remained there. “I expected to get stitches from Maester Luwin but I found Sansa instead. She’s the one who set my shoulder and stitched up the worst of the wounds.”

“What was she doing in Winterfell?” asked Rhaegar, running a hand through his silver hair.

“Bran said she was found in the Godswood by Maester Luwin. She could not remember her own name nor where she was and when he inspected her he found an injury of her head and scrapes on her hands. There were no…other injuries.” He added hesitantly when he saw Eddard tense.

“By other…” Oberyn said. His jaw was clenched tight enough to cut steel. Lord Martell had always held a softness for women and an anger towards any man who would abuse a woman and Jon knew he feared the worst.

“No sexual injuries.” Jon said uncomfortably, meeting Ned’s kind gaze. He softened immediately and for that Jon was glad. “But she has no memory of how she came to be in the Godswood.”

“Catelyn will be so sad to hear it.” said Rhaegar. “Did she say anything during your journey?”

I can’t say. Jon, you will think me a witch. “No.” he lied. “I’m sorry, Lord Stark but I must rest. I am starting to feel a bit ill.”

“Aye.” Said Oberyn.

“Thank you, Jon.” said Eddard. “Thank you for bringing our Sansa home.”


	13. The Parchment

Chapter Thirteen

Sansa was asleep as soon as her head met the pillow upon the featherbed in her chamber. The moment Jon had closed the door she had crossed the room and fallen onto the mattress, not bothering to change her clothes or take off her boots.

She had not even noticed anything but the bed, flitting passed the wooden writing desk and the massive wardrobe, even ignoring the circular marble tub that she had just bathed in, the room still smelling of sweet mint and roses.

The featherbed had been far too inviting to resist for a moment more, its crimson duvet soft as a cloud as she threw herself upon it, burrowing deep under the covers like a rabbit in a hole. Her left foot hung off the bed, her leather boot carefully placed off the mattress so she would not dirty it.

When felt like thirty seconds passed when Sansa was jerked awake by a knock on her door. The chamber was cast in solid darkness, so deep that she could not even see her hand before her face, all the sun that had once cast the light in a golden glow now disappeared.

“Sansa Stark.” Said a voice. She was not used to the name and felt strange hearing it.

“Yes?” she questioned the darkness, reaching for the dwindling candle on her nightstand and hoping to breathe life into it. The flame sprang to life in her hand and she held it out, the pool of light casting away from the bed and towards the door, creaking as it was opened.

A figure came forward and suddenly the sleep cleared from her body like fog evaporating in the sun. She was frozen with fear, pushing herself back in the bed and searching for a weapon though she knew there was nothing. Jon had said there was a guard at her door. How had he allowed this person though? Or was this man the guard?

The voice lit a few candles and suddenly the room was flooded with light, torches filling the room with heat and flickering light. Looking up at the person that stood before her she felt her eyes prickle with tears once more.

“Is it really you, Sans?” he asked.

The man was tall and broad of shoulder and chest, his hands twisting in his pockets just as his mother had earlier. His hair was the same copper color as hers, curling gently at the nape of his neck and stopping just at the high end of his collar.

He sunk down to sit on the corner of her bed and she could see his face was tearstained and blotched with redness, his bottom lip quivering gently. “Do you remember me?” he asked, his voice small and cracking. “I remember you, Sans. Please tell me that you know me.”

She looked at him, seeing herself in his face, his eyes as striking a blue as hers. _Tully blue_ , her mind screamed, though she was not sure what the words meant. “I do.” she said. “I do not know how but I do. And a girl…I can see you both in my mind. When I close my eyes I can see you…but I don’t…I know your face.”

“I’m Robb.” He said, wiping a tear from her eye and then his own. His hands were warm and callused, a scar on the back of his hand fresh and pink. “Your brother, Robb.”

“I know.” She said, brushing the hair from her brow. She was so familiar it pained him that he had been without her for so long. “I know you’re my brother. You were my best friend.”

Trying to recall memories from Sansa’s childhood was like trying to remember a word that was just on the tip of her tongue but would not come to mind. For years when she had thought back to them it was as though a wall stood between her and the memories.

“I wish I could remember.” She said. Her eyes were clear as crystals and filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks and left wet spots on the blanket she sat upon. “I wish I knew all these years that I had a family. I spent so many nights wishing I did and now…now I have all of you. And I hate that I cannot remember you.”

He pulled her into his arms and laid her head against his shoulder. At once it was all so completely familiar. His scent was one she had smelled before, something hidden deep and low in her memory. Their bodies fit together easily, his fingers tracing her shapes and circles onto the skin of her back, her cheek resting against his well muscled shoulder, though it was no less comfortable for it and together they lay that way for what felt like hours.

“Mother used to say we were like twins.” whispered Robb. The motion sent a vibration through her hair. “I was always afraid of storms and when they struck she could always find us together in your bed. Father always said we fit together like snow and the north.”

She chuckled and opened her mouth to speak. “Shhh…” Robb whispered gently, holding her still. His smile was kind and charming and Sansa was sure that all the ladies of court often fawned over him. “Sans, it’s all right. You don’t have to explain anything to me. You don’t even have to remember me. We are all together again now and we can make new memories.”

After another few moments of tender embrace Robb left her to her rest and although she had been nervous that she would not be able to fall asleep again she did just so, returning to her nest of pillows and blankets.

At the other half of the castle Jon desired nothing more than to fall into bed and not rise for the next several days but there was much to be done in the city, from the money that was owed to one of the ship captains in the harbor, to the gifts he had bought for his family, to the conversation he had been meaning to have with his father for weeks.

From the moment he saw Sansa he had recognized her and though she was older now her look had not changed. Her auburn hair was now waist length instead of short and she wore it in a simple plait down her back, a silver band lay over the crown of her head by Daenerys. Her skin was pale as fresh milk, just as her mother’s was, and dusted prettily with freckles. She was dressed in southron wear but looked no less lovely than she had in northern collars and gowns.

He could still remember the way she had looked at him and the sickness he had felt in heart at stomach when she had looked so blankly at him. For so long he had been sure that she was dead. He still relived the day of her funeral. He could still remember the way Lady Catelyn had cried, so long and hard that he had fainted from it, too overcome with pain to stand it for a moment longer.

He had been just seven summers old then but had experienced the pain no less because of it. He had wanted to marry her, spend the rest of his life at her side, playing knights and maidens, running through the gardens of King’s Landing with her. But she had died. He had buried her but had not buried his affection and when he had entered the hall of Winterfell to find her sitting at Bran’s side he had felt it come rushing back with the force of a blow.

Jon found the King in his study, studiously writing letters and sealing them with the three-headed dragon of their house, the wax smudged on the side of his left hand.

He smiled at his son when he entered the room and offered a chair graciously, his smile only widening. “You are fond of her.” he said, without pretense.

Jon’s eyebrows jumped. “I owe her my life.”

“And your heart.” Rhaegar grinned. He ran a hand through his silver hair, pushing it out of his face so he could concentrate on the parchment. Jon knew his father well enough to know that although the lilt of his voice was pleasant and his words kind that there was anxiety that weighed heavy beneath the surface. “Tell me what happened with Lannister.”

Jon sighed. He had written a letter with a brief recount of the encounter with Jaime and his men but knew his father would desire to hear the words from his own lips. “We were in the lands of Moat Cailin and Sansa was filthy from riding in the mud and snow and wanted to rinse her hands and face. Benjen did not wish to shame her by his presence and left her well alone.

“From there I do not know. She screamed and by the time I ran to her two of the men were bloodied and she was lying in the snow with her gown over her head and torn.” He let out a terse chuckle. “She had broken one of their noses and the other was nearly blinded.”

“She has always been a fiery one.” Commented Rhaegar, smiling as he remembered. “Your mother always favoured her over the rest of the girls at court. She begged for your betrothal to be to Lady Sansa instead of Lady Myrcella.”

Jon tensed at the name.

Princess Myrcella was the daughter of Lady Cersei Lannister and Lord Robert Baratheon and was cruel as her parents, who desired nothing more than to steal the throne from Jon’s father by any means necessary. The betrothal was meant to offer peace between the families but it did little except make Jon feel uneasy.

 He could not even count the attempts on their lives that had been made by the Lannister-Baratheon clan, all unofficial of course should the mercenaries they hired be capture, the first being the arrow that had nearly taken Sansa’s life that day when she jumped before him, the last being just under a week before when Jaime Lannister had rounded upon their retinue and threatened Sansa’s life again.

To think that Myrcella would spend the rest of her life at his side made him quite ill. He had always known he would marry for duty, just as his father had done before him. She would be a viper at court, just as her mother had been before she returned to Storm’s End with her husband.

“Sansa has had a difficult journey.” Said Rhaegar. “That much I am sure of. But everything else…if I did not know her since she was a child I would think she could be plotting against us.”

Jon’s mind flashed back to the moment Sansa had seen her mother and he shook his head. “Absolutely not.” he said. “But there is more…”

Rhaegar gestured for him to continue. “Jaime Lannister came after us and accused Sansa of murdering the two men who attacked her. He said Greyjoy was bringing her up on a charge of murder.”

Rhaegar frowned deeply. “I thought you said Benjen only tied them up.”

“He did.” Jon agreed. “But for some reason Jaime has reason to hate Sansa and will do anything do hurt her.” He left out the part about how Sansa had run to Jaime and thrown herself into his arms, begging for his help. She had looked so happy and innocent, only to see Jaime and grow instantly afraid. Jon had been too polite to ask her, though he had nothing but questions.

“This is troubling.” Said Rhaegar, silver brows furrowed.  

“We were in Greyjoy’s lands.” Said Jon. He had long ago downed his chalice of wine and poured himself another, hoping the wind would dull his anger. “By your laws murder is under his own jurisdiction.”

“She is the daughter of the Hand of the King!” Rhaegar pronounced. “He would not dare.”

“Your grace.” Said Eddard Stark from the doorway. He looked solemn, a roll of parchment in his hand curled loosely. “I am sorry to eavesdrop but I fear that you are wrong on the last account.”  He walked forward to lay a piece of parchment on the King’s desk, weighing down the curling paper with a weight and the butt of a candle.

Jon leaned over the desk, peering closer to see the curling script. “No.” he whispered. “It cannot be.”

Rhaegar looked grave. “He’s parroting my own words back at me.” he growled, eyes flashing like amethysts. “As if I don’t hear them in my mind every day.”

“Execution?” asked Jon. “It seems unnecessary.”

“Greyjoy claims that since Lady Sansa is an unmarried woman of the north passed her sixteenth year and no longer under the protection of her father she falls under their jurisdiction. By law if three Lords can agree on the punishment of their subject so it shall be. Bolton, Greyjoy, and Dustin have so agreed and Bran must follow the law, no matter how cruel.” Said Rhaegar, skimming the letter.

He met Jon’s eyes, his lips glowing white as they pressed together. “Sansa is to return to Moat Cailin and face the sword.”


	14. Parchment and A Plan

Chapter Fourteen

“No.” said Eddard Stark, slamming his fist upon the table. Jon jumped, so used to seeing the Lord of the North remain cool and collected even under the most dire of circumstances but now…

“I won’t allow it.” he continued, throwing himself to his feet, his chair tipping over and hitting the ground sharply. “I don’t care if I have to go there myself and cut their throats I won’t let them take my daughter!”

Rhaegar’s eyebrows had long ago disappeared into his hairline but instead of responding to the man he only took a long drink from his chalice and turned to his manservant. “Bring Lord Martell at once but be discreet about it.” he said.

Once the man had disappeared he turned back to Jon and Ned, downing the rest of his chalice and frowning. “The last thing I need is Viserys storming up here and flapping his lips at us. Does that boy know nothing about anything? I guarantee he would have us burning down Moat Cailin with Drogon.”

“Do not blame yourself for his shortcomings.” Said Ned, looking out at his friend. “You are a good father.”

Jon thought back to the old Targaryen adage. Two sides of a coin, one madness and one greatness. Viserys was surely madness and Daenerys greatness but what of he and Aegon. Where would they fall upon this spectrum? If Rhaenys had lived through the fever which would she have been?

Oberyn Martell appeared quickly, his face grave as he awaited the news he was brought forth for. Not for a moment did he complain about being dragged out of bed in the midst of the night, standing before them in his nightclothes, his eyes blinking with fatigue, and for that Eddard was glad, offering the Dornish man a seat beside him.

“What news?” he asked solemnly.

The stolid aura of the room was enough to show that whatever news they held was not positive. A moment passed while they relayed the news to him, offering the letter and watching the colour drain from his face. “We need more wine.” Jon’s uncle pronounced before even daring to broach the subject before him. “A lot more.”

“It is clear the Lannisters want war.” Said Rhaegar. “To try something this daring is…”

“Foolish to say the least.” Finished Oberyn, wiping his dark beard to remove the drops of red wine that had fallen there. “Jon are you sure Lannister knew who she was?”

“He did.” nodded Jon. He remembered the scene all too vividly, just the memory making his stomach turn. “And the letter was addressed to the King and bore her name specifically. It is a calculated move.”

“I cannot renege on the laws I’ve made.” Said Rhaegar. “But I cannot allow an innocent woman to be sent to her death. A King I am but a murderer not. Although some would say they are one and the same.”  

Throughout the Kingdoms so many people desired to sit upon the Iron Throne and wear the golden crown but Jon could not think of anything he wanted less. Since he was a boy he had known one day he would take his father’s place upon the throne but he had seen his father suffer so greatly, going without food or sleep for weeks, he could not think of anything he desired less. Well…except perhaps his marriage to Lady Myrcella.

Oberyn lifted the parchment, his dark eyes skimming the page. Then he smiled and leaned back, his chair creaking from the stress. “What are you grinning about?” asked Rhaegar, eyeing him.

“Greyjoy can claim Sansa under his jurisdiction because she is passed her sixteenth year and unmarried. There is the solution!” he cried, jumping to his feet and pulling Jon up by the arm. “Marry her you fool! You’ve wanted to for nearly fifteen years, here is your chance!”

“Sansa is…” _married_ , Jon almost said. He could hear her words, see the ring she had slid off her finger and kept in her pocket for the length of their journey. He could see her turning it in her fingers while she was sure he slept, tears rolling down the slope of her cheeks.

“She is unwed. She is of age. She is of a noble family.” Pondered Rhaegar, thinking aloud. “And Oberyn is right. You have doted on her since you were children running through my halls.”

Jon felt his face flush, though he blamed it upon the heat of the Dornish wine Oberyn had served them. “There are others who can wed her, of course.” His uncle continued. “She is a lovely creature, as well as kind and noble. Many would kill for the chance you have been given. Viserys for example. His eyes nearly bulged from his head the moment he saw her. Or my nephews Trystane or Quentyn they-”

“Enough with your teasing.” Said Rhaegar. “She is not a cow. I will not sell her off to the highest bidder.”

“Thank you.” Said Eddard. “But I believe Lord Oberyn has a point. Should Sansa marry a Southron Lord or Knight she will be under his protection and cannot punished by Greyjoy.”

“She’s a woman.” Said Jon, bristling. “I am sure she would have something to say about her fate as it is hers and hers alone.”

Eddard gave a soft smile. His eyes were hooded and tired and for all Benjen had been full of life and jests Eddard was tired and worn from so long in the convoluted political web of Westeros. “You are a good man to think of her, Jon. But this is the only way I can see that she can stay in King’s Landing and stay alive.”

“We can discuss it in the morning.” said Rhaegar, stifling a yawn. “Right now we need rest to clear our minds so that we can think straight and consider every option before we bring this before Lady Sansa.”

When Jon returned to his chambers he found Daenerys waiting with her arms crossed and her silver eyebrows furrowed. “And where exactly have you been off to?” she demanded. “You and Oberyn both gone. What are you planning?”

As Jon told her frown only deepened and she reiterated what he had. “She is not a prize.” Said Daenerys. “You can’t just give her away to whomever wants her.”

“I know.” He said, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t watch her die. Not again. Not really.”

“Marry her then. You would be a fool not to.” She said, grinning. “What if you were to say no and she is wed to a man that beats her or whores with other women and disgraces her?”

Jon considered her for a moment before nodding. “You are right. As always.” He teased, the corners of his mouth pulling upward. “Now get out I need my sleep.”

“You do need your rest for you certainly are a cranky bastard.” Daenerys jested, her smile widening as she leaned forward to kiss his brow before sweeping from the room.


	15. Lemon Cakes

Chapter Fifteen

_Sansa Lannister née Stark_

Sansa and Robb Stark walked through the gardens of King’s Landing, moving arm in arm and chatting animatedly. They had already broken their fast together, anxiously awaiting for the appearance of Arya.

“What do I say to her?” Sansa asked. Her hands twisted in the fold of her skirt, thin fingers pulling through the silk pleats. “Mother said…”

She had through the word would be as a strange language though from the moment she had said it the words had only felt right. And how Catelyn had smiled. It was as though the sun had suddenly emerged from behind a dark cloud.

“She searched for you for a fortnight.” Robb had told her. “She retraced your steps and searched every inch of your chamber. Every inch. She even checked in the Maester Aemon’s herb jars, as if you were hiding in there.”

Sansa felt heartsick for the girl, the sister she had never truly known. “She will hate me.”

“No.” said Robb, grinning and patting her hand. “She will love you, just as we all do.”

Arya Stark was just as Robb and Jon had described. She appeared in a flurry of footsteps and laughter, her dark hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves and her eyes wide and as dark a brown as Bran’s had been back at Winterfell. She wore a pair of loose slacks and a simple tied tunic and she was spattered with mud and dust, clearly having spent the day riding.

She said nothing at first, only staring indignantly at Sansa, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Sansa.” She said, repeating the word three times as though it was felt foreign in her mouth. “Sansa.”

Her bottom lip quivered like a leaf in sharp wind and her eyes grew even wide and darker. Sansa was afraid she might scream at her, Arya’s stomach extending as she took a large breath. But the youngest Stark girl did not scream. Instead she tackled the crimson haired girl to the floor with the vigor of her hug.

Sansa felt the breath rush from her lungs when Arya’s head smashed into her chest, pushing them both backwards until they were spread eagled across the tile, wrapped in each others arms. She could feel Arya’s body shaking as she cried, the wetness of tears spreading across her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” Arya cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should have came after you. I should have followed you. I should have-“

“Arya no!” said Sansa, tilting her sister’s red face up to look at her. “It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, Arya.”

Robb kneeled beside them. “Arya have you thought this all along?” he asked. “Nobody blames you. By the Old Gods and the New we do not blame you. Not at all. Not even a little bit.”

Her visit to King’s Landing had taken quite the emotional toll and by the time Jon met them in the garden her eyes were still pink from crying. But Jon did not ask, as she knew he would not.

“I see you have met Arya.” Jon said, falling into step beside them.

Jon certainly looked royal. He had shed his plain riding clothes for a black leather doublet and a dark tunic with a surcoat, a gilded chain laying across his shoulders and chest. Crimson string had even been stitched into his side, the sigil of his house bright against the black leather.

And Sansa. Within in the three days she had spent in the Capital and already more than half of the women in the city had adopted a version of her fashion, wearing their hair in intricate braids or loose down their back instead of pins as Elia had once worn. Sansa had finally been fit and measured by the seamstress and wore a dress that reflected her personality better then Daenerys’ had.

It had never been hard to see why he was so popular among the women at court but now, as he stood tall and regal and freshly shaved, Sansa understood all the more.

They had been crafted in the Dornish style and Oberyn Martell had been pleased to see the thin cloth knotted and tied in the same way the women wore back home. He had held out his hand and when she had taken it he spun her around, grinning and watching as the waves of fabric rose and fell in the wind.

Sensing the piqued interest the two had in each other Robb quirked an eyebrow and beat a hasty retreat, commenting on how his father required him for some business.

The two continued through the garden on their own, Jon offering his arm dutifully. Her hand was warm upon his, her skin soft smooth as marble against his callused fingers.

“I am going into the city today.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence had passed between them. “Would you care to join me?” Her smile was brighter than the sun as it shone down upon the blue water of the bay they stood before.

Entering the city with Sansa at his side was like entering a new city. He saw everything through her eyes, watching as she marveled at anything and everything, from the vendors selling woven rugs to the men who offered handfuls of pearls and rubies the size of her eyes.

She took in every sight, every inch of the city, as if she had never seen anything so vast and busy. Which, he supposed, she had not. And while had only intended for the trip to last a few hours they spent much of the day in the city, floating from one area to the next.

Even the knights that followed close at hand enjoyed the trip, their smile showing even though their closed helms. Of course it did not hurt that Sansa was the most beautiful woman in the city and the guards would probably kill each other for a chance to protect her and gain her favour.

Jon even managed to surprise Sansa with a plate of lemon cakes. She looked up at him, grinning, her eyes bright as stars. “I love lemon cakes!” she announced _. I know_ , he almost said.

They shared the sweet treat sitting on the dock, looking out at the bay as the water lapped at the shore. Their legs hung over the edge of the wooden dock, Sansa’s pale feet bare and swinging in the wind, drops of foam rushing up from the crashing waves to cool her. The view was beautiful but it was nothing compared to her.

But she looked troubled, her light brows furrowed, and Jon waved a hand to dismiss the guards that stood at the end of the dock. “What is it?” Jon asked, licking the sugar from his fingers.

She looked out over the sea, her gaze far away. “I lied Jon.” she said. “I lied. I remember everything. I was just afraid of what you might think if…if I told you the truth.”

He gave her a hard look, his lips pressed tight. “You don’t have to tell me anything.” he said finally.

She turned to look at him and he felt his stomach tighten with nervousness, the apples of his cheeks flushing. “I know we are to be married.” She said. His panic only increased and his he school his face to be hard as iron. He opened his mouth to speak but she raised a hand to stop him. “Father told me everything.” She said. “You are very gallant to marry a woman you do not love for duty.”

“It is not for duty.” Said Jon before he could stop himself. “I-“ _Love you_ , he wanted to tell her. _Want you to rule at my side. Want you as my wife._

“I want to be honest with you.” She said, turning to give him a smile. “You have been so kind to me. The least I can do is tell you the truth.”

He knew there would be no arguing with her and only nodded. “Go on.” He said.


	16. Fresh Markets

Chapter Sixteen

_Sansa Lannister née Stark_

Jon had always been stoic…or at least as long as she remembered. But as she shared the story, the truth she had hidden deep down within her he was still as the great stone statue that lady before the Great Sept of Baelor.

Jon only listened, never interrupted, never made any visible reaction other than the occasional twitch of his brows. The words spilled out of her, slowly at first but then quicker as she delved deeper and deeper into her tale. Winterfell. The Godswood. The rush of sounds that had pierced her ears. Even Jaime. Her Jaime. The resemblance he bore to Jaime Lannister.

Halfway through her tale Jon stood and began to pace, working the tension from his legs and arms as he did so. But still he did not interrupt and by the time she had finished regaling the tale she was worried he might never speak to her again.

“I have heard of the Gods touching our lives.” Said Jon after what felt like a year had passed. He pushed his hair back with a hand, his fingers pushing through the dark curls the way her hand ached to. “Returning backward in time. Breathing life back into he dead. I once knew a priestess of R’hllor who preached of these things.”

Sansa let out a relieved sigh, sinking back on the dock. She watched the waves break on the sandy shore for a moment before speaking again. “So you don’t think me mad?”

Jon offered a weak smile, his eyes distant. “Of course not.” He said. “When you disappeared you and Arya had been playing in the Godswood, recreating Oberyn’s victory over Ser Osney Kettleblack at the King’s tourney. She said you had climbed into the Heart Tree and were trying to leave an offering of lemon cakes to the Old Gods.”

Sansa could see flashes of memory in her mind, fragments of images she could not recognize. “The lemon cakes were for the Stranger so he would not take Lady Lyanna.”

Jon let out a laugh then, smiling as he remembered. The memory was still fresh in his mind, as though it had happened ten minutes ago instead of ten years. He had been so happy then, his heart so full of love he was sure it would burst each day when Sansa descended the steps from her chamber and snuck to his apartments. The guards at his door always let her through, as charmed as Jon was with her sweet smile and kind words.

More often then not Jon awoke in the morning to find Sansa sitting at the edge of his window seat, the sun reflecting off her skin like she was made of marble, something even the most talented of artists could not capture.

Every morning she would turn when he first stirred and when she saw him awake a smile would break over her face, so bright and warm the sun was put to shame by it. He could still remember the way his heart had twisted and broke the first day she had not been there to do so.

“A hundred times she was asked about it.” said Jon. “Arya was crying so hard she fainted from it and your father carried her to her chambers and spent the night holding her. We were all half afraid he would bit off her tongue she was so pained by the loss. She said all she had heard was a scream and saw the plate drop down from the trees and break and you were gone.”

Sansa listened to him with eyes wide and filling with tears, her nose beginning to shade to pink as it always did when she could not contain her tears any longer. “We searched for you for months. Every inch of every kingdom. You were as close to the King as his own child and he searched for you as if you were. At least I now know you were safe.”

Sansa could not bear to tell the man beside her that her life within the orphanage was far worse than her life in King’s Landing. For years she had not known what it felt like to sleep in a comfortable bed or have a full meal. It was not until she left university and met James that she felt happiness. And to know she had left behind a family who loved her and a home where she was comfortable.

It was no surprise now why Sansa had always been so fascinated with history, her hunger for knowledge on the Targaryen dynasty insatiable from the time she was old enough to read until she had been forced to quit university to serve as a nurse in the war. She was studying her own family, her own people. Her own time.

They were in no real rush to reach the palace and walked along the sandy path at a stroll, Jon offering to carry the basket of goods Sansa had acquired during the day. He picked through the basket, finding a bushel of fresh strawberries Sansa had purchased from a street vendor at the market and moaned a bit with pleasure as he bit off the end of a loaf of crisp bread. 

Sansa watched him with interest, perhaps the first time she had ever seen a man be so blissfully unaware of his own magnanimous sexuality. She found her mind wandering to other things he might do with his mouth and jerked her gaze away, her cheeks as bright a red as the berries he ate.

“I got you a gift.” Sansa said, trying to take her mind off the matter before him.

His eyebrows shot up. “A gift?” he questioned. “It should be I who am getting you gifts as you are to be my betrothed.”

“You gave me your knife.” She said. “After what happened at the river I keep it with me always.” She patted her thigh where her gown flared slightly, feeling the metal cool against her bare skin. “I thought you might want another one in case you were ever in danger.”

Sansa had asked Oberyn Martell to come with her when she spoke to the master-at-arms so he could inspect the metal and have it built to a very strict set of measurements. While it had seemed completely foreign in Sansa’s unpracticed fingers Oberyn had commented that the dexterity was perfect and the blade well crafted.

“It is perfect.” Oberyn had commended, sheathing the blades. “He will be proud to wear it.”

What Oberyn had not told Sansa was that he had the craftsman carve the direwolf sigil of her house into the pommel of the blade. She could see it now as she offered the blade to him, standing light grey against the silver blade. It was almost a private marking, only able to be seen by those who looked long and deep.

“It is almost as lovely as the woman who gifted it.” he said.

She let out a laugh, pushing away her blush. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Oberyn.” 

“Yes.” He admitted, working the blade through a loop on his belt and fastening it tightly. The blade looked quite nice on his hip, fitting in nicely beside his sword. He looked a true warrior now, though it wasn't as if he had not before. But he was more approachable now. With her favor on his hip he was her warrior now. “But the words are no less true, Sans.”

“But you are a woman wed.” he said. “To James Lannister.”

“Yes.” Said Sansa. “Though…not yet. We are married in the year 581. That’s nearly three hundred years from now.”

The tone had shifted from lightheartedness to something odd, something stale and almost bitter. Jon continued to walk at her side, the blade she had gifted him tied onto his belt at his hip. “If I could…if I took you back to Winterfell would you try and return? Do you…” he paused, looking hurt. “Do you want to return?”

She looked at him and opened her mouth to speak.


	17. Strawberries, Kisses, and Balcony Doors

Chapter Seventeen

_Jon Targaryen_

Sansa made to speak but he held up a hand to stop her, smiling lightly. “No.” he said. “I don’t think I want to open that door.” She looked crestfallen but did not argue and the sickening feeling in his belly only grew.

For the rest of the trip back to the palace Jon felt his hand brush the dagger she had crafter for him, familiarizing himself with every inch of the blade, every curve, every fleck of the sigil that had been carved into the side of the metal. He truly did love it, as much as the woman that had given the gift to him, and he knew that even if Sansa chose to return to her home he would keep it with him until his death.

“Are you truly no opposed to this marriage?” asked Jon. “You could have any man you wanted. If it pleased you I am sure you could marry the King.”

Sansa flushed prettily and shook her head. “There is no one I want better than you, Jon Targaryen.”

The thought made him smile wide enough to make his face ache. “As long as you have given your consent I am sure the wedding will come soon enough.” He said, turning to face her. He looked suddenly serious, the smile slipping from his face. Sensing their stopped the guards that walked a few paces behind them fell back and busied themselves once more in a conversation so they would not accidently hear anything they were not meant to.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Before he could talk himself out of speaking them again. Before Arya or Robb or Dany appeared and he would lose his nerve again. He reached out to take her hands, feeling her skin soft and smooth against his rough palms.

But when she looked up at him he could feel the words slipping away from him as they had so many times before. He looked at his feet, clearing his throat. “I only mean to tell you that when we are wed I will treat you well. I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will respect you as my wife, respect your wisdom and affection and you shall be my equal among men.”

She looked up at him for another moment before releasing his hands. He was struck with a pang of absolute fear as he felt her hand slip from his grip and her eyes widen, so clear and blue that he was reminded of the hours they had spent before the water.

But she didn’t. She had only released his hands to free hers so that she could wrap them around his middle, resting her head at the base of his chest. With her ear pressed to his heart she could hear the beat of it gentle and soft. His smell was familiar and though the laces of his tunic scraped her cheek she was in no danger of releasing him.

When she had first initiated the embrace he had tensed and she could feel the ripple of muscle beneath her hands, his back and shoulders rife with sinew. Even his chest was large but soft, softer then she had imagined.

In his arms she was small as a child’s doll, her head only reaching the center of his chest, low enough for his chin to rest upon her head. He ran his fingers through the satin belt hanging at her waist and could feel her shiver in response, the collar of her dress low enough to expose the gooseflesh that prickled on her arms and down her back.

Sansa smelled fresh as though she had just stepped out of the bath and he could identify scents that Dany wore, rose and sandalwood, filling his nose with sweet smelling perfume. They shared their embrace for what could have been hours. A cannon could have gone off and shattered the ground beneath their feet and Jon did not think it could pry them apart, their concentration was so great.

It was not until a guard cleared his throat and approached them, telling Jon his father had told him to make sure the pair would return before nightfall that they were forced to break apart.

The pair did not speak again as they returned to the castle and bid each other good day with a bow and a curtsy and broke off into their separate ways. But not before they shared one last, longing look, Jon’s hand gently gripping hers, squeezing just so for then she knew what he felt but no one else did.

Sansa found her father in his study, crouched low over a table full of parchments. He brightened as soon as he saw her, standing with difficulty, as his back was so stiff. “Father.” She said crossly, snapping open the curtains. “You shouldn’t work all day in here. Have you eaten?” she asked, eyeing a plate of food that seemed to have been sitting around for a while.

“Yes I have.” He replied. “I am your parent you know, not the other way around.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “But I have years of lost love to make up for. The least I can do is bring you some food and open the curtains so you can get some sunlight in here.”

Eddard smiled and wrapped her in a one armed embrace, his northern collar tickling her face with the trim of the laces that kept the lapels together. “Have you thought more about Jon?”

“Yes.” She said, sweeping the crumbs from his desk and replacing the pot of old ink for a new one, the quill so stick in the vat that it did not budge even when she turned it upside down. “And I agree.”

“Good.” Eddard smiled. “Your mother will be pleased. She has always doted upon Jon. But you might have to fight Arya for him, she has always held a small fondness for him.”

Sansa smiled at his jest. “When will the wedding take place?”

“As soon as we are able. The Lannister’s will use any opportunity possible to hurt us and taking you away again…are you sure you remember nothing?”

“I’m sure, father.” She lied. She had said this lie so many times, to so many people that she did not even flinch when she spoke it. She had even managed to keep her left eyebrow even, as it usually quirked slightly when she was lying. It had always been her downfall, hundreds of dragons lost when playing cards with the other nurses when they had a night free.

“It is a shame.” Said Eddard, looking sad. “To lose half of your life with one bump to the head.”

She hated to see him look so mournful but the truth was too difficult to share. “I don’t care for that time. My life has only just begun right now, with you.” She said, not even a moment of falsehood on her tongue.

Her father looked on the verge of tears as he embraced her, whispering how pleased he was to find her once more. He even had a doll for her, said he, though he was far too embarrassed to give it to her now that she was a woman grown.

When her mother and sister entered the room a bit later they found the two still embracing and Catelyn clapped her hands together, grinning.

“Isn’t this a sight for sore eyes?” she said. “Reunited with my daughter. And a daughter about to be married at that.” Her mother cooed excitedly. “I never thought I would see the day Arya would be tamed and when I lost you…” she waved off the dirty look Arya sent her. “Well I certainly never expected to see you ever again. Let alone you marrying the boy you were once so in love with. Though I hoped it would be under different circumstances I must say I am still pleased.”

“What?” asked Sansa.

“Well I hoped you two would marry for love instead of duty. But I suppose duty grows to become love one day, like your father and I.” she added fondly, her fingers gripping Sansa’s shoulders.

“No. I’m not in love with Jon.” she said, fighting back an arch of her brow. Arya scoffed, pulling a face and earning a light shove from Sansa.

“Not now perhaps.” Said Catelyn, ignoring the squabbling of her daughters. “You have been apart far too long. But once you were. You two were more in love then any two people I had ever seen. Anytime there was a storm in the city I could be assured I would find you hiding under the covers with Jon in your chambers. Always cuddled up like kittens you were.”

Sansa was floored. For as long as she could remember she had always felt something was missing in her life, something very far from her. Something that could never be rectified. She had thought it was love, but when she had married James even then she had been hollow of heart. Not completely, for she truly loved her Jaime. But there was just something not quite there.

And when she had returned to Westeros she had felt complete again. Whole again. As though she had lost her eyesight only to receive it again. At first she had been too distracted to realize that she felt whole again, between arriving in Winterfell three hundred years before she was born and then the journey to King’s Landing. But it was only when she had returned to the Capital did she realize that missing piece within had somehow mended.

She had thought it to be the appearance of her mother and father, then she was sure it must be when her brother and sister found her again. But the more she thought about it and the more Catelyn bubbled on about how Jon and Sansa were nearly inseparable, close enough in age to still be able to play together, but not so close that they seemed like siblings, she knew.

It was Jon.

He was what had been missing all these years. The embrace they had shared near the dock cinched it. Within the circle of his arms Sansa remembered what it felt like to be able to share anything but someone. She had shared even the most private aspect of her life with Jon and he had understood, he had continued to like her when anyone else might have thought her mad as a witch.

“Sansa are you listening?” asked Lady Catelyn, cocking her head to the side. “I said I’ve just been sent word from the King that the wedding is to take place within a fortnight.”

“What?” Sansa said, feeling sheepish.

“Your wedding, silly girl.” Said her mother, kissing her brow softly. “The King has set a date for it, eleven days from today.” She _tsked_ her tongue suddenly and it was Sansa’s turn to give the other woman a strange look.

“The women at court will have a field day with this.” Grumbled Arya. “They’ll probably think you are with child.”

Catelyn made a rude noise and Arya’s brows flew into her hairline as she spoke. “Let those bitches say what they want! We all know they are only jealous of such a beauty stealing the prince right out from under their upturned noses.”

“Mother!” Arya said with a laugh. “This is a side to you I have never seen before. Perhaps Sansa should go missing again, we never know what might happen to you when she returns.”

Catelyn gave her youngest daughter a light slap but smiled anyway. “I am just very pleased to once again be a family. In truth I was never one for weddings but anything that will keep us close is anything I will like.”

The rest of the night was spent with a variety of women piled into Sansa’s chambers like eggs to a basket. The sound was so loud and boisterous that it spilled out into the hall and Robb heard them far before he saw them and turned on his heel, quickly rushing away lest he be sucked into a sea of cooing women who grabbed at him and pressed kisses all over his face. Again.

The seamstress took Sansa’s measurements once more so a wedding gown could be fashioned and without really knowing what was going on Sansa found herself standing upon a wooden platform in the center of the room wearing nothing but her smallclothes.

Women she had never seen before fell over themselves trying to complement her on things she did not think necessitated complements, from the thinness of her ankles to the paleness of her chest. Even the beauty mark on her left breast was complemented for its perfect shape and color. Towards the end of the night Arya and Daenerys had managed to corral many of the women from the room until only a few stubborn ones remained and even then Catelyn crossed her arms over her chest and shooed them out at once.

The women of court had downed much of the wine the servants had brought so only a few goblets were left for them but Catelyn was kind enough to fetch more, insisting she needed Arya’s help pouring the wine, which left only Sansa.

She stood before a floor length mirror, staring back at her reflection. Half of her laughed, thinking the person she was looking at in silks and flowing fabrics with hair stuck full of pins was not her. But the other half was sure she had never looked so much like herself. And that was the half she chose to listen to.

The wind was heavy outside her window and the glad in the doors rumbled with every gust, sending a cold breeze shooting through the room. Sansa was glad to have on her nightgown and a robe over it, digging her hands in her pockets for warmth.

Looking over at the bed she ached for sleep, thinking the pillows and blankets looked particularly comfortable this night. An image of Jon flashed through her mind. He lay on his back in the bed, his tunic on a rumpled pile on the floor beside the boots he had kicked off. He was smiling at her, urging her to come back to bed. The pull to do so was completely irresistible.

Sansa jumped when there was a knock on her window and she let out a small yelp, feeling her heart rise in her throat. Her ladies maids had already been dismissed for the night but she knew a pair of guards were standing in the hall and would surely hear her scream if she needed them.

Pulling free the latch that held the balcony doors together another gust of wind pushed them open. The air was cold as if a dusting of snow was about to fall and she shivered, suddenly very aware of the fact that her nipples had hardened beneath the thin shift she wore.

She was then very, very aware of this fact when she found Jon standing on the balcony. He was bathed in moonlight, looking beautiful as an angel, his dark hair shining silver, his skin made all the more pale by the silver light. He wore a heavy cloak over the tunic she had seen him in that afternoon and he turned to look at her, grinning from ear to ear with as much vigor as if he had just been told a funny jape.

“Sansa.” He said. “I want to show you something. But first you must put on a cloak and a pair of boots, it will get cold.”

Nodding uncertainly Sansa did as she was told, doubling back through the doors and changing quickly, shedding her silk slippers for the boots she had set aside that afternoon. “What is it?” she asked, taking the hand Jon offered.

He led her to the balcony, standing at her back, so close that she could feel his warmth moving towards her through both their cloaks. “Don’t be afraid.” He said.

“Of what-“

Her jaw dropped to scream but no sound came out and Jon’s hand on her waist settled her. She stumbled back and would have fallen if Jon had not caught her around the elbow. “Is that…is that a…is that…”

“Yes.” Said Jon, his grin only widening. His hand had not moved from her waist and she did not care. “This is Rhaegal.” Said he, gesturing to the great dragon that soared through the air over their heads. “Would you like to come for a ride with me?”


	18. Vhagar and Visenya

Chapter Eighteen

_Sansa Lannister nee Stark_

From her first night in King's Landing Sansa had been surprised to find that once the sun had set the air took on a sharp chill. It was not so deep and unshakable as in Winterfell but it touched her deeply nonetheless, making her teeth chatter as she shivered.

She had dressed in her warmest gown, regretting trading her linen smallclothes for silk ones. Beneath her stockings gooseflesh ripped across her flesh and she rubbed her arms, the cloak Jon had gifted her so long ago draped across her shoulders.

From the very first moment Jon had offered his hand from to her Sansa had felt her chest bloom with heat. Every inch of hesitation had gone from her and she took his hand without pause, feeling his callused fingers twine through hers.

Jon lifted her onto the dragon's back easily, Sansa swinging her leg over the saddle and settling in. For something she had always though to be so wild Rhaegal was surprisingly calm. Far calmer than she, who could feel her body tense with nervousness as she sat above such a great height.

Rhaegal’s scales were dark and clear as mirrors, reflecting the clear moonlight back at her and casting her skin even paler. They rippled as he moved, shifting from her weight.

Jon stood beside her, his nimble fingers making quick work of the straps that were sewn into the side of the saddle. “It’s a bit snug.” Said Jon. “But it is worth it. You’ll see.”

Jon tied a thick leather cord across her lap and fastened the buckle to the other side of the saddle, wrapping it around her middle as he did so. He swung up beside her and her eyebrows rose in surprise, finding Jon did not sit before her as he had when they were riding from Winterfell but behind her. She had glad for the view from dragon back was beautiful and Jon’s large body would have blocked it.

His legs pressed against the underside of hers, his booted feet finding the stirrups with practiced familiarity. It was only another moment of fastening and tying before they were ready to fly.

After the trial of fastening and straps Jon reached over to pluck her hand from her lap and twine his fingers through hers, his arm holding her tightly around the middle. Heat pooled within her belly again and this time it had nothing to do with fear. 

Jon’s chest was strong and the muscle pulled taut against her frame. Though Sansa had started out sitting stiff and stock straight she now let herself relax, her shoulders falling back against his chest and she could feel him smile against her hair, the dark stubble sprinkled around his chin rough but not as uncomfortable as she would have thought. 

“I feel like Visenya Targaryen.” She said, smiling. Rhaegal had moved to stand just on the edge of the sill of the balcony and her view was straight down, looking down upon the city as thought it was made of ants instead of people.

“A warrior queen?” said Jon, admiring her. The wind had forced her hair to fall from its pins, strands of fire red hair tickling his face, and she was smiling. “You look the part.”

“Are you ready?” he asked. Her breath hitched in her chest and she felt her stomach tighten beneath Jon’s hand. She nodded, uncertain. “Sōvēs!” he called. Her ears recognized the tones of High Valyrian from the months Jaime had spent trying to master the language so he could teach at the university in Dragonstone.

Hearing his master’s command Rhaegal gave a massive flap of his wings and shot into the air fast as a whip. Sansa let out a yelp, every thought gone from her mind except how quickly the ground was coming towards them.

She was thankful for the straps that kept her in the saddle and for Jon’s arms around her, keeping her in her place. The cold was unbearable as they moved so quickly and the flaps of her cloak flew open in the wind, icy air shooting over her body.

Jon brought his own cloak over both of their shoulders and how he managed to tie the laces when moving so quickly through the air. She went white with fear as Rhaegal looked as though he would crash right into the ground and she sucked in a breath, anticipating pain and death. Her hand held Jon’s so tightly that she was sure she had broken a bone, especially when her grip tightened as Rhaegal swooped over the grassy ground as easily as a bird might.

Being on Rhaegal’s back was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was not the speed, for she had driven in the passenger seat of Jaime’s car a thousand times before. It was the height, Rhaegar flying higher than even the tallest mountain she had stood upon.

Sansa was laughing. At first Jon had gone cold from fear when he thought she was crying but when he looked forward he found a smile stretched across her face. Her hands still gripped tight to the pommel of his saddle but she seemed less afraid, sitting straighter, eyes wider.

She shivered and Jon held her tighter still, holding her close for fear of her falling. It was an irrational thought, he knew, for he had nearly lashed her to the saddle in his anxiety, adding several extra chords that even he did not typically wear.

Oh if Lady Catelyn knew what they were up to right now…he nearly laughed at the prospect of the Lady of the North fainting at the sight of her eldest daughter on the back of a dragon.

“This is amazing!” Sansa called, her voice half lost among the wind. Jon grinned. “I cannot believe you do this every night.” Rhaegal was heading toward open sea, the crashing waves sending spurts of water across their feet and ankles, chilling them even more.

Jon remembered the first time he had ridden. Dany had been the one to take him and he had screamed loud enough to pierce the drum of her ear, clutching her so tightly that he nearly sent them both flying. It had been then that Rhaegar had mandated the stable master add several more straps to the saddle.

Jon had only intended to take his betrothed on a short ride but they ended up on Rhaegal’s back for so long that the dark sky began to lighten, streaks of yellow and pink appearing on the horizon. Sansa’s eyes had begun to droop lightly at first before fully closing, her body falling slack against his.

Jon could only smile. She fit against him as comfortably as she had when they were children and he had hidden in her bed during thunderstorms. He could still remember her smell, rosy and sweet and vaguely like the lemon cakes she was always bribing the cooks to make for her.

He could still remember the first time he had snuck away to see her. The two had always been kept separate but woke up together, their mothers sweeping into their respective chambers to find the beds empty. At first it had frightened them deeply as they assumed what all parents do when they find their child’s bed cold and empty.

But when the castle had been searched Ser Barristan had reported back to Queen Elia that Jon and Sansa had been found before the fire in Dany’s room. Jon had pulled the furs from his own bed and dragged them with him, lying with Sansa in his arms and the fire warming them.

Jon gingerly undid the buckles and chords from around her body and lifted her into his arms, gingerly carrying her back through the balcony doors. He pushed aside the blankets with an arm and laid her down upon the featherbed and while it was not something he had done in many years the motion was no less familiar and no less natural.

He moved carefully to pull off her remove her boots, dropping them beside the bed carefully, pausing to appreciate the pure simplicity of the moment and wishing he could remain here for hours instead of minutes.

With one last, lingering gaze upon her Jon turned to leave. “I will be glad to wed, Jon Targaryen.” Sansa whispered, her voice thick with sleep and groggy. Jon smiled and whispered, “Sleep well my warrior queen.”  


	19. The Lion of Lannister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incest warning for this chapter.

Chapter Nineteen

_The Lion of Lannister_

 Jaime Lannister should have known how enraged Cersei would become when she heard the news. His twin swept into the room, barging through the doors hard enough to make him jump as the mahogany slammed against the stonewalls. She slammed her palms against the table before him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up at her.

Her lips were twisted, her light eyes glowing white hot with rage, and it took her a moment to compose herself before she could speak. He did not mind her silence, for when he mouth was closed he could take the opportunity to give her a once over.

It was always a shock to him how Robert Baratheon did not seem to appreciate her beauty. Once, when he was still young and fresh faced and strong he and Cersei could not get enough of each other, pawing wildly at the others body at any time of day. It had made him furious. But not so furious as he had been the first time Robert shamed her with a whore from Lannisport.

Cersei’s legs seemed a mile long beneath her blue gown, a slit running from ankle almost to her hip and allowing her creamy thigh to show through. The belt cinched her thin waist but flared near her chest, the swell of her breast clear and luscious beneath the silk.

Even enraged she was lovely as a dream. Her hair was spun gold and shining, loosely hanging around her shoulders. She had refused to braid it ever since word had spread through the Seven Kingdoms that Sansa Stark wore it in a plait. 

“I suppose you heard.” Cersei seethed. She tipped his chair even further back so he was forced to meet her eye. Though he had far more interest in the thin thigh that touched his beneath the table as she sunk into a chair. “My daughter. Jilted. Like a common whore.”

“The boy is in love.” Said Jaime lazily. Could he blame the prince? Sansa was as beautiful as Cersei, though he would never share that with his twin. And she was far younger, her years of beauty not numbered as they were with Cersei.

Late at night he remembered her, when his bed was cold and Cersei was away and there was nobody to entertain him but his callused palm and the wisps of memory he had of the day he had first seen Sansa.

Her face had been flushed with cold, cheeks pale and eyes wide, and her lips had been red as an apple over chattering teeth. When she had run to him, her face fresh as a spring flower and filled with relief. Even he had felt something turn in his stomach. It had been a very long time since a woman had thrown her arms around his neck and sat into his lap.

Thinking about this now he could feel his cock begin to twitch against the laces of his trousers. Should Cersei notice this he would blame it on the fit of her dress instead of the beauty of a younger woman.

“Love?” Cersei growled. “In love? What fool still believes marriage is for love?”

“You loved Robert once.” He pointed out. “And he loved you.”

She scoffed. “He loved my breasts and the way I looked at him when I was still young and foolish.” Her lips twisted again. “He loved that I was a place to put his cock when his breath tasted foul and he whispered Lyanna Stark’s name. And now it’s being done again but instead of Robert and me it’s Jon and Myrcella.”

“Rhaegar has not officially broken off the marriage.” Said Jaime. This topic was excruciating but he knew if he rolled his eyes Cersei would grow even angrier. “All you’ve heard are rumors, you know nothing for sure.”

“It is true. I know it.” she growled, spearing a piece of strawberry with a knife. He cocked an eyebrow, watching her.

“Speaking of, where is your darling, dear husband?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hunting with that pillow biter.”

“Renly is back then?” Jaime asked. “Is that who you heard the news from. That Tyrell boy is unreliable.”

His twin waved a hand and lifted his chalice to her lips, taking a long drink. “I don’t wish to speak of it anymore.” She said. She turned her attention to him suddenly; her eyes cat like as she looked at him over the rim of her cup before flicking down to his lap. She quirked a golden eyebrow. “So you like the dress then?” she asked.

“I would like it better on the floor.” She growled.

Rushing to their chambers he was so aroused it became painful, Cersei’s nipping kisses and touches just enough to make him ache. Their lovemaking was as it always was, rough and deep and passionate and because Robert had not returned from his hunt and their father was back in Casterly Rock they did not worry about being caught.

They made love wildly, their bodies fitting together just as they had so long ago within their mother’s belly. He was quick to finish and Cersei did not forgive him for it, digging her nails into his bare shoulders hard enough to draw blood. But the pain only added to the pleasure and soon enough he was hard again and it was her turn to moan and spend in his arms.

They lay together afterwards, curled around each other’s bodies, legs and arms tangled, chests heaving. “What are we going to do about Myrcella?” she asked, her fingers circling through his golden chest hair.

“Why are you thinking about your daughter after we just fucked?” Jaime growled angrily.

“Our daughter.” She corrected, as she always did. “She is born of your seed as well. You would do well not to forget that.”

“You would never allow me to.”

She threw her head back and laughed cruelly, her thin fingers twisting his nipple. “She will be married to that Targaryen boy if I die in the process.”

Jaime’s face darkened, his arms grabbing Cersei sharply by the arm as she made to stand. Her skin was covered in a film of sweat and golden light streamed through the open wind, casting her in pure gold. She let out a gasp, looking down at the arm in his grasp. “I would never let that happen.” He whispered, his voice deadly. “I would kill every single one of them before I let anything happen to you. Or our daughter.”

Cersei sunk back into his arms, her leg draping over his stomach. “I might have to take you up on that.” She said, smiling prettily as she brushed a strand of golden hair from his brow. “That girl is ruining all of our hard lain plans. If the engagement is broken Myrcella has no crown. Without a crown she has no power.”

“Power?” Jaime laughed. “Myrcella could not even kill a butterfly let alone a husband.” He watched as her eyebrow shot into her hair. “I can read you easily. I am sure Rhaegar saw your plan from a mile away, my bet is he let his interest in unifying the kingdoms overthrow his skepticism.”

“He is a fool.” She scoffed.

“You are the fool.” Said Jaime. “You are a fool to think Myrcella would even have a moment alone with him let alone enough time to murder him. And even if, by the slightest chance, she does are you fool enough to think that she would take and hold the crown. As soon as Jon’s body is cold the south and north would rise and squash her easily. Her body would be hung from the highest tower. Her head would-“

She slapped him hard enough to make his eyes water as much as hers. Throwing him backward she stood, seething. “Don’t ever say that again. Don’t speak about such unspeakable events.”

“Open your eyes!” he shouted. “You pride yourself on being smart as Tywin Lannister and yet your strategy is the most common one in the kingdoms. Do you not think that is what everyone assumed will happen? Sister, you are a fool.”

A tear fell down her cheek at his words, meeting the corner of her lip with salty wetness. “I am only a fool for loving you, brother.” She spat, turning on her heel and slamming the door behind her.


	20. Small Councils

Chapter Twenty

_Jon Targaryen_

As much as Jon had been in love with Sansa since they were children it nearly doubled when he saw her again. He had entered the hall in agonizing pain from the dislocation in his shoulder only to find every trace of pain gone when his eyes fell upon her, her hair red as flame against the darkness of the room. Bran’s face had been white as a specter, whiter still when he had seen Jon, jerking his head towards her as if he had not seen her. Even if a blizzard had whipped through the great hall and sent crags of ice and stone upon them Jon would not have been able to take his eyes off her.

Time had seemed to slow and stop when she turned to face him. She had looked so similar and yet so strikingly different. The hair that had always been kept short and tied in two braids on either side of her head fell to her lower back in a simple, unadorned fashion. The freckles she had once had had mostly disappeared but her eyes were the same. He would not have known it was her if not for the eyes. In his dreams he saw them. In his nightmares he saw them disappear.

Since she returned Jon was afraid she would disappear again. Or the far worse alternative, that she did not love him. And now he wondered even if she did love him, as he hoped, did she love the husband she had left behind more. A man who had not yet been born yet haunted him all the same.

“Jon.” yelled Oberyn, tossing a grape at his nephew’s head and watching it bounce off his nose. “I know you are excited at the prospect of your new wife but look alive.”

Jon tried to force back the flush that threatened to fill his face. He focused instead on the plate of food before him, untouched, before popping the grape into his mouth pointedly.

The meeting of the small council had been called so early in the morning that Jon had not even had a chance to change his clothes after riding with Sansa that night. He had barely even unsaddled the dragon and watched him disappear over the horizon before hearing the knock at his door, turning to find his manservant with a note in the King’s own hand, bidding they meet in the great hall at once.

“Have you sent the invitations out then?” asked Dany.

She sat between Jon and Oberyn, fresh faced and pleasant even at so early in the morning. Over her bare shoulder the sky was still dark, the sun just beginning to break over the horizon and send the dark sky pale.

“Aye.” Said Eddard. “A thousand letters hand written and hand sealed.”

“The people of Westeros will go mad for it.” Oberyn said with a roll of his eyes. “Every major house has been sent an invitation to the wedding. It will be a grand affair, or so I have been _repeatedly_ told by the people at court.”

“You would think they have nothing better to do than stuff their faces full of food I pay for and listen to music I commission.” Rhaegar laughed, in as good a spirit as his sister. He had even squeezed a slice of orange in his mouth and screwed up his face in an attempt to make them laugh.

“They don’t.” Oberyn pointed out, finishing his pomegranate and spitting the seeds into a napkin. “They live for any sort of celebration.”

“Well then we must give them one!” said Rhaegar, clapping his son on the back. “It’s not everyday the Prince of Westeros weds.”

“I always assumed Aegon would wed first.” Said Dany, grinning. “He follows Arya around the castle like a lost puppy. It’s quite sweet actually. They remind me of Jon and Sansa.”

Jon started, having thought the same thing. Ned only smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he looked at Jon. “Arya only acts like she doesn’t share those feelings but I am quite sure she does.”

“We can have two weddings then!” said Jon, swallowing a slice of orange. “Sansa and I and Aegon and Arya. It would be quite an affair.”

Rhaegar grinned at the thought. “We could have three if Daenerys would agree to wed one of her suitors.”

“Oh brother you make it all sound so romantic.” She grinned, winking at him. “Like the stuff of a song. As for the suitors…I think I’ve found more pleasure in an apple than in those bores.”

“I married Elia for duty.” Rhaegar reminded her. “And our duty became love. We grew to become friends and lovers and raised three lovely children together.” He smiled softly in remembrance.

“Catelyn and I as well.” Said Eddard. “She was meant to marry my brother Brandon, but after his death, her father bid I ask for her hand instead. She was scared to death of me the first time we met but we loved each other. We love each other still.”

Dany gave him a skeptical look. “Cersei and Robert Baratheon loved each other once.” She said. “And look at them now.”

Rhaegar clapped his hands together. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. But-” he gave his sister a pointed look. “Do not think we won’t discuss this later.”

The rest of the morning was spent planning the wedding Jon was already beginning to dread. Not the marriage itself, for the thought of Sansa at his side for the rest of his days was enough to make his stomach twist with nervousness and exhilaration. But the wedding.

The last royal wedding that had taken place in King’s Landing was the King’s and Jon had not been born to see it. He oft heard of the lavishness of the affair, the many courses, the entertainment, the fanfare, the Dornish fashion Queen Elia had worn. Rhaegar was always one to be in the spotlight, bathing in the attention that was showered upon he and Elia as they ascended the long carpet in the Sept and took their first steps as man and wife.

Jon was sure Sansa would not mind the attention. She should be used to it by now for every step she took in King’s Landing was watched by someone. But Jon…he was not sure he would ever be used to such a thing.

When the meeting was dismissed Jon packed his things and left the hall, leaving Dany with a promise to come to the stables later and watch the new trick she had taught Drogon. He went off in search of Aegon, who he had not seen for near days now. His brother spent nearly every moment of his day with Arya and Jon was reminded of how he and Sansa had once been.

He walked with Ned, chatting about his nameday that was fast approaching, and the two left Oberyn and Daenerys behind, both still gathering their things and clearing their plates.

Oberyn pressed the door closed behind them, his eyes scanning the room for servants or any other prying ears. “They’re all gone.” Dany said, setting down her notebook and standing from her seat. She grinned coyly, a silver brow quirking.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Dany made her way towards him, picking through the outstretched chairs until she stood before him. Oberyn looked down at her, his dark eyes falling to the quirk of her red lips, his head dropping down to meet hers. His kiss was soft at first, as though he was still afraid they were not alone, but as the minutes passed the kiss only grew deeper.

His mouth was hungry against hers, his beard course against her soft flesh. Her hand threaded into his hair, pulling his mouth closer against hers, his hand falling to her hip and hooking through the belt she wore cinched around her waist. The slit that rose up her skirt offered the perfect opportunity for Oberyn’s other hand to touch her knee, lifting it until it was almost at his hip, hooking around his waist.

When they broke apart they panted with exhaustion but were unwilling to disentangle from the others arms. For hours they had sat beside each other, seemingly natural when in truth Oberyn’s hand had crawled higher and higher on her leg by the minute.

“Do they know?” he whispered, peppering her face with kisses.

“Only the King.” She whispered, nuzzling her cheek against his.

He laughed. “Only.” He teased, fingers locking with hers. “And Jon?”

“No.” Daenerys shook her head, her hands lifting his tunic so her fingers could dance across his stomach, feeling the clench of muscle beneath. She kissed him, her words muffled by the move of her lips against his. “But I should tell him.” she said. “He deserves to know the wedding we are planning is not his.”


	21. I am his and he is mine

Chapter Twenty-One

_Sansa Lannister née Stark_

Sansa was pulled quite suddenly out of a dream. She had been started awake by the creak of a door and the shift of the feather bed beneath her as the body of another person weighed it down. For a moment she thought it was Jon or her mother, but a flash of white sent a jolt of fear straight down her spine and into her belly.

“Shhh.” Daenerys whispered. The darkness was so deep that her voice was almost dethatched, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “It’s me.”

Sansa’s fingers fumbled for the table that stood beside her bed, reaching for the half burned candlestick she had extinguished the night before. “Is something wrong?” Sansa asked. “Is it…” her throat tightened, as she feared something had befallen her family. Or Jon. Or Jon…

She went cold with fear, her eyes searching fro Daenerys, the click of her footsteps crossing the room. Sansa remembered the second time she and her betrothed had ridden Rhaegal, traveling so far that they had crossed the narrow sea and when Jon had pointed down to a city that glowed beneath them she recognized the great pyramids of Meereen.

Jon had forgotten to secure the strap around his waist fully and when Drogon had been scared by a flock of birds that swooped around him and had jerked to the side Jon had nearly flown from his back. Sansa had been so struck with fear, seeming to witness the moment in slow motion as Drogon bucked and Jon was thrown into the air, his hands grasping at the nothingness.

Sansa had been able to grab hold of him and with the help of the straps of Rhaegal’s saddle had pulled him back onto the dragon’s back. It had been a fortnight and they had spent hours everyday riding nearly every day, crossing across Westeros and even Essos. Dany joined them at times, Drogon often nipping and teasing Rhaegal just as she did with Jon.

For a moment Sansa was struck with fear. Jon had invited her last night to join him with Rhaegal, telling her he had some business in Oldtown to attend. But she had been too tired from spending the day running through the city with Arya and she had declined his invitation. She feared he had forgotten to secure his straps again. Had slipped from Rhaegal’s saddle…had fallen.

There was a click and shift as Daenerys opened the doors to the balcony and silver light flooded the room. “Everyone is safe.” assured Daenerys. The moonlight reflected off her pale hair and gave her skin a ghostly glow. “I’m sorry to wake you so early but we have got a very busy day ahead of us.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. A jolt ran through her as her bare feet touched the cold tile and her lips were dry, her mouth aching for a sit of water.

Daenerys did not answer, as Sansa knew she would not, and instead busied herself shifting through the clothes in the wooden wardrobe at the side of the room. She looked unsatisfied, frowning but before she could speak the second door opened and a flock of ladies maids entered.

They looked fresh, even so early in the morning, and swooped around Sansa, guiding her to the bathing room. She sat in the marble tub with her knees drawn to her chest, the lavender coloured water washing down her skin. She emerged fresh and clear, her skin shining pink after being rubbed with rough wool brushes.

Dany returned with an armful of dresses, laying them across the face of the bed and looking down at them, concentrating deeply. “What am I dressing for?” asked Sansa, thinking she would be breaking fast with the King or meeting another one of the royal families that had recently began flooding into the city.

“Your wedding.” Said Daenerys nonchalantly.

Sansa choked on her tea. “What?”

“You need to be wed as soon as possible.” Said Dany. “Robert Baratheon could choose to march his army upon King’s Landing any day and they would be here within a week should he choose to do so.”

“But the King’s army is far larger.” Said Sansa.

She was well aware of the history behind the Baratheon Rebellion, knowing full well that Robert Baratheon’s army was crushed within the first two days of battle. Even though he had joined forces with the Lannister Army the army had not arrived soon enough to reinforce Robert’s army and had failed, eventually swearing fealty before King Rhaegar upon bended knee and joining their houses by marrying Lancel Lannister to Rhaenys Targaryen.  

“Yes.” Said Dany. “And we have three dragons. But Robert’s army is large and Tywin is clever and even if they do not win they will still strike where we will feel it most.”

“The people.” Sansa whispered, horrified. Tywin had burned the houses and cities of seven thousand Westerosi citizens when marching from Lannisport to the Capital. Rhaegar knew he could not sacrifice the men in his army to defend the cities and had been forced to watch as his people were slain.

“Exactly.” Said Daenerys, grimacing. “Do you like this one?” she held a gown of soft emerald silk, so pure it shone in the candlelight.

Sansa nodded and a moment later felt the gown slip over her head, falling gently around his hips and parting at her leg, the slit in her thigh high enough to resemble the dresses Dany so often wore.

“Are you afraid?” asked Dany.

“N-no.” Sansa said, suddenly flushed with nervousness at the prospect that the night before was her last night sleeping alone. She grew even more nervous at he prospect of the consummation.

“You do not have to worry.” Said Dany. “Jon would not do anything to put you even in the slightest bit of harm.”

Sansa knew Jon had not spoken even a breath of what she had told him, not even to Dany. For all they knew Sansa was still a maiden, or so she gathered from the look Daenerys gave her.

“I know that you care for him.” the silver haired woman said, reaching out to tuck a strand of crimson hair behind her ear. “I know you would rather not marry but…we want to keep you safe. And perhaps your fondness will grow into love.”

Sansa nodded, unable to speak. She finished dressing, sitting in the offered chair as Daenerys stood at her back, her fingers nimble as they twisted through her hair. Soon enough there was another knock at the door and her mother entered, her eyes misty and her cheeks pink. She took over the task Dany did and finished braiding Sansa’s hair, the crimson chord hanging down her shoulder.

They were brought something to break their fast upon but Sansa had no stomach for it, eating only a slice of apple and three cups of wine and by the time she was led from the room the drink was doing its task and her nerves had gone.

“The King wished for you to marry in the Sept.” said Catelyn, holding her daughters hand as they walked through the castle. “But Jon wished to have it done in the Godswood as he knows you worship the Old Gods.”

Sansa felt a trace of a smile on her lips. King Rhaegar awaited her entrance near the door, dressed in a fine surcoat and doublet, a smile on his face bright enough to light up the room. “Good morrow!” he greeted, offering a hand.

Catelyn and Dany fell out of step with her as Rhaegar stood at her side, her hand upon his elbow tight from her nervousness. “I am sorry to wake you so early, I hope you are not too tired.”

“Of course not.” She lied.

He took her aside for a moment, holding her hands. “I know you did not choose this marriage.” Rhaegar said. “And it all seems so much. A new family, a new husband, a new city, all at once must be very difficult. But it is all for the best. I have noticed you and Jon growing closer.” she flushed and he let out a chuckle. “I have told you before that fondness can grow to be love and from the way you act around each other I think that will be the case.”

She did not respond, the doors opening before her blinding her with light.

She had been in the gardens of King’s Landing before- Elia’s Gardens, as they were colloquially known, but never like this. It was though they had undergone a grand transformation. Every flower seemed more vibrant, every tree more lush, even every blade of grass a brighter green. A fountain bubbled fresh blue water, the sound like a babbling brook.

The path had been repaved, sandy yellow pebbles crunching under her booted feet. The sun was shining but for some reason the air was not as hot, the cover of trees cooling the temperature significantly. Her dress was light and thin enough to allow a breeze to pass through it and she could feel the tickle of the cloth around her ankles as the wind pushed at her.

There were more people then she had anticipated but the gathering was still intimate enough not to make her feel ill at ease. Oberyn Martell stood beside Dany, both of whom smiled at her as she passed, and Arya stood between Aegon and Robb, fidgeting with the corner of her gown. King Rhaegar gave Sansa’s arm to her father, Eddard Stark looking proud and gallant as he led her down the path to where Jon stood.

Jon wore all black, as she was so used to, but he was freshly shaven and his hair combed, the leathers he wore polished so brightly that they shone. Beside him Viserys looked pale in comparison, wearing lavish blue silks and a golden chain heavy enough to bridle an elephant with. The heart tree was so similar to the one in Winterfell that for a moment she felt her jaw drop, though the group was sure it was from the sight of Jon.

But he didn’t even notice. All Jon could see was her. Sansa’s hair was bright as liquid copper, the braid she wore coming loose at the ends and sending strands of red hair over her shoulders. The gown she wore was the perfect color to complement her skin, her eyes reflecting its light and resembling marbles. She looked younger with her hair pulled away from her face but no less sensual, her eyes looking straight into Jon’s as though she could see through him.

She took her place at his side, a head short than him. The Septon stood before them and when he began the ceremony Sansa realized it was a mix of worship to the Seven and to the Old Gods, the man asking for the blessing of the Mother and the Maiden.

Before Sansa knew it the priest told them it was time to recite their vows and she felt her lips moving even though she did not tell them to. “I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.” She whispered, hearing Jon’s voice repeating the same words back to her.

She turned to face him, looking up into his face. A flush filled his face until the apples of his cheeks were red as turnips. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to be on eye level with him and as her lips touched his she was sure they were dry and unpleasant. Jon made a noise, soft enough that only she could hear it. and even then she was unsure if she had just imagined it. It was a relieved noise, a happy noise. Like kissing her was what he had been waiting to do.

“I now present the lovely couple!” announced the King, gesturing to them. “Sansa and Jon Targaryen, prince and princess of Westeros!”


	22. The Feast

Chapter Twenty-Two

_Sansa Targaryen née Stark_

Sansa was very thankful for the small ceremony. She had spent many nights tossing and turning at the thought of having to ascend the steps of the Great Sept and say her vows before a thousand eyes as strangers from royal families she had never heard of inspected her every move, every inch of her dress, every strand of her hair. Jon had not seemed to like the thought either, frowning deeply each time the ceremony was mentioned.

When she had stood before the Heart Tree Sansa had only felt calm. Even when she had intertwined her fingers with Jon’s and turned to face their smiling families, listening as the King presented them for the first time she had been at ease.

She had squeezed Jon’s hand, watching as he grinned down at her, and had opened her mouth to speak but was whisked away by Dany. The silver haired maiden beamed; practically shining bright as gold she was so pleased. “I will bring your wife back in a moment, Jon.” said she. “We’ve got to get changed.”

Returning back to Sansa’s chambers she shed her long wedding gown for something less adorned but no less beautiful. It was a gown her mother had commissioned, Lady Catelyn’s style showing through with the golden pins and the etched gold string that was embroidered down the sides of the gown. It was lovely, the fabric bright and luscious as emeralds, long enough that it swept across her feet as she moved, making her feel all the more like a princess.

Even Arya had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a golden gown that complemented Sansa’s nicely, her small waist for once not hidden beneath the loose tunics she always wore.

“If the wedding we have been planning for weeks was not for me…” said Sansa. “Who is it for?”

"For myself." Dany announced casually, her fingers zipping through the pins of the gown as she fastened them. 

"You have decided on a suitor?" asked Sansa, looking at her over her shoulder. "I am disappointed. We had so much fun jesting over the size of their teeth or the crooks of their noses."

Arya snorted in agreement and Dany laughed charmingly. "I have chosen. A man you already know quite well, whose teeth are pearly white and whose nose is only a bit crooked."

"Oh?" asked Arya, raising a dark eyebrow. "And this man? Is it Robb?"

"No." said Dany. "He is like a brother to me and nothing more, although your mother has oft told me how lovely our children would be. It is Lord Oberyn."

Arya's eyebrows flew up. "The Red Viper?"

Sansa was not surprised. She had seen the exchanges between them, from the way his face lit up when Dany entered the room to the way his laugh was always extra passionate just for her. "I wish you well." Said Sansa, squeezing her hand.

"You do not object? So many others have." Dany gave a callus roll of her eyes. "They say why do I bother to unite a house already bound by blood and marriage? I care not for duty in this aspect." she said. "I was once betrothed to marry that foul Baratheon boy with the pig nose. They say he killed a whore in Lannisport once after having his way with her." she sniffed, her eyes fiery. "I have done much for my country but I swear by the Old Gods I will not let duty intervene in this."

Sansa squeezed her friend’s hand again. “Even if you chose to marry Drogon I would wish you nothing but happiness and joy and love in your life."

Dany beamed again. "As I you, sister." she said, kissing Sansa briefly on the lips. "Now, we’ve got a feast to attend to!"

They looked a fearsome trio as they descended the circular stairs to the gardens, where many tables and chairs had been set and the smell of food wafted over to them instantly. Dany and Arya had fallen a step or two behind so as the doors were opened all eyes fell upon Sansa.

Benjen elbowed Jon in the ribs, gesturing for the man to look to his bride. Jon’s jaw fell open and he nearly dropped his wine glass as he stood abruptly, both out of politeness and out of an attempt to seek a better look. She was lovely as a dream, her copper hair complementing the emerald gown as though she had been born to wear it.

She approached him, taking his offered hand and smiling. “You look lovely.” He said, holding her hand as she gave him a playful spin, the fabric of her dress flying gently up. “As always.” He stole a kiss, her cheek smooth and pretty as marble. The wedding party erupted in cheers and their faces erupted in blushes.

The garden had been transformed. White linen tents had been raised and mahogany tables dragged over the lush grass, trays of foods and pastries and flagons of lemon water and wine lining their surface. Musicians and singers meandered about, fire-eaters and jugglers doing their best to entertain. There were many more guests in attendance than at their wedding, half a hundred tables filled. But at the table with her family and friends Sansa was at ease.

Eddard Stark stood, raising his glass and smiling. “I never thought that this day would come.” He said, his face reddening as his eyes filled with tears. “I never thought I would see my daughter again, let alone the day she married a boy that had come to be another son to me. And now, by the Gods, you are a son to me! Let us wish them a long and happy life together!”

Jon’s hand fell upon Sansa’s beneath the table and she lay her other hand over his, her fingers tracing his callused fingers and the scars that remained upon his skin from his battles.

“My son,” said King Rhaegar, rising from his seat at the head table. “You could not have found a better woman if she fell from the heavens and into your lap…which she did!” the room shared a laugh. “It seems the Gods wanted this marriage as much as we did. Now, let us feast to the newly wed couple!”

As if on queue servants entered the garden with a flourish, carrying cloches of meats and fresh breads and soft cheeses, laying them over the tables and doubling back into the kitchen for more. A grinning servant lay a plate before her, removing the cloche with a flourish and revealing a plate piled high with lemon cakes, powdered with sugar and cream.

“For you, my wife.” Jon said, touching the tip of the cake to her nose and leaving a mark of cream. “I know you love them.”

“If I had known I would have asked the cook to make those cream pastries that you love.” She said. “And that sweet strawberry jam to go with it.”

He kissed her knuckles softly. “You are very sweet, wife.”

Sansa took a bite of lemon cake, feeling the tart fruit tickle her cheeks.  “And you husband.” She said, breaking off a corner of the lemon cake and offering it to him, feeling his lips warm and soft against her palm. A shiver rocked her body.

The afternoon was spent in great comfort. Sansa and Jon did not stray far from each other’s sides, chatting animatedly and sneaking looks at each other like they were children in love.

Robb introduced Sansa to his betrothed, a sweet-faced girl from Highgarden. Margaery Tyrell was kind and gently and her affection for Robb was clear in the way she smiled and touched his arm when he spoke, commenting on his great swordsmanship and how gallant he looked in his doublet. As a wedding gift she and her grandmother, Olenna, offered Sansa a bushel of gilded roses and a barrel of fresh summer honey shipped all the way from Highgarden. 

They received many gifts that day. From Oberyn they were given pounds of pomegranates, oranges, and lemons and a jeweled knife that he slipped to Sansa when they were in private. “For protection.” He said, offering the dagger. “We have come to be very fond of you, we do not want you stolen away again.”

“It is lovely.” She admired. He had even crafted a leather strap so she could holster it at her hip and keep it hidden from sight. “Thank you.”

Sansa was approached by several people she had never seen before who spoke to her as thought they were the closest of friends, implying dirty things about their wedding night that made her uncomfortable enough to flush. From them she was given yards of lush fabric and a new set of sewing needles, thanking them for their gift though she was quite disappointed. Jon received books and parchments and jeweled daggers while she received fabric and sewing needles. It all felt so wildly sexist to her.

Before Sansa knew it all the gifts had been given and the food consumed and night had fallen. She knew the wedding customs of the Targaryen Era and had been dreading them from the start, worrying about the bedding ceremony since it was first announced that she and Jon would be married.

In her books she read accounts of brides that were lifted into the arms of many strange men and stripped down to their smallclothes, bawdy jokes called up at them as they were carried to their bedchambers.

When King Rhaegar stood and announced the bedding ceremony would not be followed this night Sansa felt her chest deflate with the stress that had built within her. Instead Arya, Dany, and her mother, who kissed her cheeks when she stood before the door and told her not to be worried, walked her to Jon’s chamber. Sansa felt deeply guilty for not telling her mother the truth, especially when Lady Catelyn offered her advice on how to minimize the pain of breaking her maidenhead.

Each of the women embraced her tightly and left her at the entrance of the door, disappearing down the hall and leaving her to her own devices. Jon had already disappeared from the feast so she assumed he had already made the trek back to his apartments and she found she was correct, sliding open the door to find him with his back to her.

“Hello.” He said, turning to her. He had not undressed, standing with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “I hope you do not mind that I asked my father to cancel the bedding ceremony.”

“Of course not.” She said, giving him an embarrassed smile. “Lord Benjen has seen me half nude once already I did not wish for him to see me again.”

“Neither did I.” Jon said. “The bedding ceremony was always my least favorite part of a wedding.”

Sansa looked at him. The room was dark, several candles spilling golden light across the tile floor, the only light save the moonlight that bathed the room with white light. The balcony doors were open, although Jon offered to close them, but Sansa was hot with nervousness and the cool air that came in through the open doors was very welcome.

“We do not have to do this.” Said Jon. “I will tell the King that-“

“No.” said Sansa. She felt her stomach seize with nerves at the boldness of her words. “I want to…I want you.”

He was silent. His dark eyes were filled with fire as they searched her face and as they continued down her body the heat inside them spread across her. Sansa stepped out of her shoes one by one, her bare feet touching the cold tile. The icy cold sent a jolt through her and she felt her courage return and before it could disappear again she began to undo the laces of her bodice, the fabric loosening slowly before it fell to her ankles, leaving her clad in nothing but her small clothes.

She heard Jon’s breath hitch and saw his hands clench tighter at the sight of her. Sansa began to pull the pins from her hair one by one until her crimson hair fell down her back in waves, tickling her shoulders and back as it fell. “You are beautiful.” He whispered, as thought afraid someone might hear him.

She stepped out of the gown that had pooled at her ankles and crossed the room to where he stood. Sansa wrapped her arms around his middle, bringing her body flush against him as they embraced tightly. She could feel his heat even through his clothing and his arms laid over her shoulders, pulling her still closer.

“Jon…” she whispered, suddenly realizing the cause of his great nervousness. “Are you…have you…”

“No.” he said finally, looking down at his feet. “I have had no women.”

Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble rough as sand beneath her fingers. The pad of her small finger dragged gently down his bottom lip. “You will have me.” Sansa whispered, looking up at him. Her eyes were soft instead of mocking, as he had worried they would be. “You are mine and I am yours. If you want me.”

She sounded so small when she spoke the last few words, as though she was afraid he would spurn her. Dany had told him that she thought he only asked for her hand to protect her. Did she truly not know?

“Only a fool would not want you.” Jon returned, his hand falling to rest on her hip, his thumb tracing the lace trim of her small clothes.

It was though his nervousness was a mirror that had shattered and all at once his mouth was on hers, hungry, passionate, full of heat. His hand was on the back of her head, supporting her weight as he kissed her, her body falling slightly backwards.

With the kiss Sansa seemed to swallow what little remained of his nervousness and he deepened the kiss, moving his hand lower down his back until he nearly touched her arse. She jumped a little and he jerked away but she grabbed him around the collar, pulling him back to her.

“I’m sorry-“ he started.

“No.” she whispered, her voice deep and dark with heat. “Do it again.”

He gave her that familiar sideways grin that made her stomach flip and did as he was bid, his lips on hers like they had never left. His body was flush against hers, the stirring of him on her hip proving that he enjoyed their embrace as much as she.

Jon hurried to undo the cloak draped over his shoulders, tossing it quickly aside before replacing his arms around her waist. He was strong, the feel of muscle quite apparent beneath his tunic. She had felt it before of course, her arms wrapped around him when they rode Rhaegal or when they had shared a horse on the way back from Winterfell. But it was never like this. She had been ashamed then, jerking away from him as though she had been burned, the blush on her face bright as burnished copper. But they were man and wife now and she could touch him all she wanted.

Sansa ran her fingers through the curly thatch of dark hair that spread across his chest, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath her palm as he reacted to her cold fingers. She bent her head to kiss his chest, moving from his collarbones to his navel and even lower, watching as his stomach jerked.

She stepped back for a moment, leaving him breathless and warm faced. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped quickly when she hooked her thumb through the lace of her undershirt, pulling it over her head.  

His eyes went wide as saucers as she undid the laces of her small clothes, watching as the nude fabric fell around her ankles. Jon looked at her as though she were the most beautiful thing in the entire world. As thought the sun rose and fell with her. It had been so long since a man had looked at her the way he was now. Even James had not looked upon her with such lust and intrigue since their first night together so long ago.

His lips were red from kissing and parted slightly and the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip for just a moment, so brief that she was not even sure she had seen it, was enough to make her knees weak. He had always been handsome but now he was so beautiful it was almost overwhelming and when he took a step towards her she found herself doing the same.

Jon wished time could stop, if only just for a moment. Just for now. She was so lovely, from the arc of her pale foot to the soft curves of her crimson hair as it fell down her back like a wave.

He felt ashamed as how often he had wondered what she looked like out of the northern collars and loose southron dresses. If she knew how long he had wanted her she would laugh at him or think him mad. But now she stood before him, naked as her name day, and she was not laughing.

She had said she wanted him. Said it aloud, loud enough that he was sure she had said these words instead of his subconscious going mad as he might have worried it had.

He kicked off his booths and fumbled with the laces of his trousers, in his haste unable to undo the knot at the bottom of his stomach. Sansa gave a small chuckle and shooed his hands away, continuing his task easily until the trousers fell to his ankles and he tripped out of them.

Her hands remained upon his hips, her hands warm as flame against his skin and her eyes even warmer as they met his. Sansa offered a hand, leading him to the bed that had been freshly made and cleaned by the maids.

They fell upon the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and Jon could not help but laugh. “What are you laughing at?” Sansa teased, kissing his nose. He lay on top of her, her head supported by his arm, his lips moving down her chest, his tongue giving chase to each of her nipples before moving down to the center of her stomach. “Do I amuse you so?”

“No.” he said, still laughing. “We always wrestled as children and one day I remember Oberyn telling me that one day we would be wrestling and it would feel different.” Said Jon, his head dipping between her thighs. “Well now it feels different.”

Sansa made to respond but the words were drowned out by a soft moan. “Where did you learn that?” she asked breathlessly.

“I may be a virgin but my uncles prepared me well for this night.” He said.

“Mmm.” She moaned. “Dany is a lucky woman.”

Jon moved so that his full weight was upon her, Sansa’s hands sliding down his back to his hips, feeling the muscular curve of his arse beneath her fingers. His head fell into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing kisses down her neck and his teeth taking the bottom of her ear lobe into his mouth.

By the time she entered her they were both aching for the other’s touch and Sansa gasped when his hips met hers for the first time. Jon raised an eyebrow, questioning her. “No.” she said, breathless, her cheeks red as pomegranates. “Continue.”

Sansa and Jon had already learned to work in tandem from the days they had spent riding Rhaegal. If they were too separated, too afraid of working closely together that Rhaegal would buck beneath them and ride erratically and it was only when they both calmed, both embraced that Rhaegal would be calm. And as they moved together now it seemed a great benefit to them that they had learned to ride together.

Jon set the pace and Sansa followed, just as they had done when on Rhaegal’s back, and Jon’s moans were deep enough to send shivers down her back. There was a scar on his back beneath her hand and her foot raised to hook over his hip, his hand guiding her back as she leaned forward, chest to chest with Jon.

The pleasure they both ached for came all at once and when Jon reached his Sansa was just after him, her teeth leaving marks of pleasure upon his shoulder.

Chests heaving and cheeks flushed with exertion they fell upon the bed again, Jon pulling Sansa into his arms as his head met the pillow. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He whispered, a finger curling around the strand of her hair. “Wanted this. For so long. I love you, Sansa. Always.”

She kissed his sweaty brow, brushing the hair from his face and watching as his eyes drooped with fatigue. “I love you, Jon.” she whispered, and she meant it.   


	23. The Consummation

Chapter Twenty-Three

_Jon Targaryen_

Come morning Jon Targaryen did not want to wake up. The night before had been too perfect, too pure. He knew something must go wrong at some point.

He had slept last night as he had all other nights, his dreams easy and only slightly plagued by nightmares of battle. Wind from the open balcony had blown in to chill him, sending the dark hair on his chest and upon his head standing on end.

He had come awake suddenly a few times; his arms tightening only to find Sansa still lay encircled within them.

His eyes were tired and his vision blurry but she was just as beautiful as she had been ten summer’s earlier in the garden’s of Winterfell, ten hours earlier beside him at the altar of their wedding, ten minutes earlier when he had awoken for the fourth time.

His stomach had seized every time he had woken up, expecting to find his bed empty. Or even worse, to find that everything since his arrival at Winterfell had been a dream. The thought made him sick.

But when he finally awoke, knowing he would be summoned any moment, nothing was different. In fact, everything was quite the same. His manservant had not yet come into the room to tidy it so their clothes from the night before were still laid about the room; Sansa’s shoes neatly left on the opposite side of the room, her gown circled over the floor from where she had stepped out of it.

“Good morning, husband.” Said Sansa, stirring awake.

Jon looked up at her and let out a breath. He knew it was foolish to think it all a dream but not until the very moment he had looked upon her, reached out to take her thin hand in his, brush his thumb against the back of her palm, did he fully accept that this was true life.

“Good morning, wife.” The words felt pure as gold on his lips. But her smile outshined them.

“Shall I fetch you some wine?” she said. “Oberyn has already sent three servants with baskets of bread and cheese. To replenish our energy, to use his words.”

Jon groaned. “I’ll kill him.”

“Parricide is not the answer.” She whispered, sitting at the corner of the bed. “At least not the day after our wedding night.”

Sansa wore a thin shift, the silk so thin it was nearly translucent in the bright sunlight, and as she stretched backwards he could see the faint outline of her nipples beneath the fabric. Jon took her hand and pressed his lips to the curve of her palm, his tongue running gently over the wrinkles in her skin. She shivered and he felt himself stir in response.

Sansa fell into his lap, her arms moving to encircle his neck, her body flush against his. A smile crept onto her face at the feeling beneath her leg. “Perhaps we _could_ use some replenishment.” Said she, her smiling lips kissing his.

He grinned at her and the heart in his chest swooped upwards with excitement and happiness. “Oh I am hungry. But not for food.”

They made love again knowing that a servant could walk in at any moment. That they could be seen by any guard patrolling the castle on the other side of their balcony. That Dany or Oberyn or both for that matter could throw open their bedroom doors, as they so often did, and catch them. But they did not care. A war could not stop them, Jon thought. If Rhaegal came out of the sky to set fire to the chamber he would not notice.

“You have many scars.” Sansa admired.

Jon lay in her arms, her back propped up against the head of the bed, one of her legs curled lazily near his hip. Her fingers traced absently, running over the ridges of a scar on his chest. A scar she had run her tongue over minutes before.

“Aye.” Murmured Jon, turning his head to hers. Her lips were already swollen from kissing, red and luscious and ripe for more kisses. So he really could not be blamed for pressing his lips to them.

By the time they had risen after the fifth consummation of their wedding they were grateful for the food Oberyn had sent and they broke bread and cheese and shared the last swallows of wine that had been left over from the night before.

It was as though they were young as children again, fresh in love and not yet aged by life. It was as though neither of them had ever been burned by love before. Even as they ate they did not keep their hands free from each other, fingers entwined, Sansa’s pale toes tickling his bare foot. They could fall back into bed and lay in each others arms for the rest of the night. And they would have, had Oberyn not entered the room.

Sansa flushed pink as a spring daisy, the slip she wore showing everything beneath, from the curve of her hip to the soft swell of her nipple. But she knew although Oberyn was bawdy he would do nothing to cause her discomfort and after an initial greeting of her the Prince of Dorne did not look anywhere but her eyes until she had donned Jon’s cloak.

Oberyn seemed quite pleased with the scene before him, his eyebrows quirking as he saw a trail of purple marks that ran down Jon’s chest from shoulder to stomach to where the blanket hid what lay below. He seemed too pleased with himself to even speak for a few moments, his smile only growing as his eyes took in more of the room.

Finally he took a breath, narrowing down the many comments he had come up with to just one. “Well…from the looks of it I should have sent a whole boar. You certainly need your energy after last night…and this morning I assume. You’ve got a feather in your hair, nephew.”  

Jon gave him a fierce look and plucked the feather from his hair, stuffing it back into the corner of the pillow that had popped when they had rolled over it.

Oberyn gave Sansa a once over. “Perhaps you should give Dany some advice for our own wedding night.”

Sansa chuckled, countering without pause. “From what I’ve heard all she will need on your wedding night is her own basket of bread and cheese. Perhaps a few.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments below I would love to hear your feedback.


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